Mundane Magic
by FremenCredo
Summary: A story about one of the gifts F!Hawke gives Anders that's not in the game. Takes place between Deep Roads and Dissent. Saucy fluff shading to angst, with friendship maturing into love. Now with extra sauce!
1. Chapter 1

**Mundane Magic**

**A/N:** The first time I stepped into the cave on Sundermount, I was delighted by the glowworm grotto. If you've never been to Waitomo Caves in New Zealand, you _must_ find your way there. Grab that plane ticket and make that multi-hour flight. Trust me: it's totally worth it, and it is true magic for a mundane world. This is fluff that was intended as a one-shot, but my muse is a tricky wench, so now it's going to be longer than anticipated. It shows that even those born without power can still create magic. It's also my first attempt at writing a fic, so please, be gentle until we know each other better, m'kay? Oh, by the way - there's language. Salty language. But probably nothing you haven't already heard Isabela say.

Massive, heartfelt gushing kudos to Snarkoleptic for agreeing to be my beta. I think I've found my long lost sister who was stolen away by Rivainis when we were born. But I'm not sure yet which of us is the _more_ evil twin!

All hail to Bioware for creating such a wonderful world in which I can play "what if?".

**Chapter 1 **

"Hawke - so my runner found you?" Varric's rumbling voice cut across the raucous murmur of the Hanged Man's common room. Hawke paused just inside the door, scanning until she saw the storyteller standing on the stairs and beckoning her up to his suite. "Oh, and bring that pitcher of swill Corff just tapped, would you?" He turned, pinned coattails flaring dramatically - she just _knew_ he practiced that move daily - and disappeared upstairs.

Corff shoved the pitcher - topped with foam and brimming with something that actually smelled mildly drinkable - across the bar at her. He muttered something resigned about "the tab" as she snagged it before any liquid could slop over the lip. The diminutive brunette began to weave a practiced path through the drunken patrons, almost dancing; knowing just where to pause to avoid a bum-squeezing grope, and just when to speed up before a gagging laborer lurched to his feet and staggered toward the spew bucket placed so conveniently by the door. A final sideways quickstep between two tables that always ended up almost pushed into each other during bar fights, and she was bounding up the stairs, pitcher as steady as bedrock in her grip.

This uncanny ability of sensing potential trouble and avoiding it had earned her the short-lived nickname "Little Miss Know-it-All," uttered exactly twice by Varric before she'd convinced him to drop it. To do so, she'd used language that had made even the hard-bitten dwarf recoil. Or maybe it had been the very small, very sharp blade that had shimmered briefly before his eyes and then reappeared instants later poised in the center of the biggest ring of his necklace, just barely pricking the skin and making it itch. Either way, he had hastily agreed with her that "Hawke" would do just fine.

He had two ceramic mugs ready on the table, and her usual chair was pulled out. She poured for each of them, and without waiting drained half her ale in one steady pull, covering an unladylike belch with one hand and then fanning it away before she even sat down. "Echhh, I still don't see how you can drink this stuff all the time," she complained, watching Varric quietly sipping at his mug. "The only way I can manage is to get most of it down before I get a chance to actually taste it."

"Probably something to do with the fact that most dwarven brews use moss, mushrooms or mold for flavoring," he replied with a wicked grin. "Human spirits are just pitifully bland by comparison." She clinked her mug against his in rueful agreement, drew a quick breath, and downed the rest of her drink, grimacing ferociously once she was done.

"All right, Varric. What's up? One of your Undercity urchins nearly gave my mother a fit - 'stinking up the foyer and eying what could be stolen.'" She gave her voice a snooty pitch and then snorted in derision. "Maker's pendulous balls, we haven't even been in the place a _week_ and she's already converted to 'Hightown Matron.' Twenty-five years of honest love and plain living, forgotten, just so she can be Lady Amell again. You know, I ... I almost wish we were still at Gamlen's. At least then, we'd all still ... be together." Her voice trailed off and she passed a quick hand across her eyes, sniffing hard once. "Anyway...the runner didn't say much more than 'Messere Varric wants ta see yer' before he bolted."

Having grown used to her mercurial mood swings over the past several months of working to fund the Deep Roads expedition, and its horrible repercussions, Varric wisely ignored her tears, merely refilling her mug and setting it back in front of her. Dutifully, she picked it up and took another huge swig.

"I got a message from that Dalish Keeper today that said, 'Tell Hawke it is done, and to act quickly, for it will not last,'" the dwarf sing-songed in a terrible attempt at the Dalish brogue. "So, mind telling your dear friend Varric what that means? Is it another job? You really don't need to take any more jobs right now, you know. There's more returns on the treasure coming in all the time. Not that a little extra jingle isn't a good thing." He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Hawke drained her mug again and smiled impishly at the dwarf, sadness pushed aside for the time being. "No, it's not a job. It's... a surprise - a thank-you gift."

"For me? Gee, Hawke, you shouldn't have," he said teasingly. But he felt a twinge of misgiving, which grew stronger as she abruptly colored and became absorbed in turning her mug around in her hands, thumbs running along the rim and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Well, no, Varric. I've already promised that you'll get _your_ present when we find Bartrand. This one, well, it's for..."

"Blondie, of course," he finished for her, and sighed. "Honestly Hawke, you really should learn to take 'No, I'm a possessed mage who's too old for you' as the rather impolite - but sincere - refusal it's meant to be, instead of a challenge."

She slapped the mug down hard enough to crack the fired glaze. "He's _not_ that much older than me! I can't help that I have this ridiculous baby-voice or that I'm shorter than most elves. Nor does it help that Isabela keeps prancing around in that singlet of hers, showing off acres of tits. None of it changes the fact that I'm a grown woman, and I'm entitled to be acknowledged as such. It's bullshit that none of you consider me a child when I'm slicing the throats of Raiders or 'spawn, or keeping them from doing the same to you in a dust-up, but once we're back in Kirkwall, the game of 'who wants to babysit Hawke' starts up again. Do you really think I _enjoy_ acting so crudely and talking like a bloody dock worker all the time?"

Varric had to throw up his hands in surrender and acknowledgment. Because even though her face was flushed and he could tell that she was deadly serious and very, _very_ angry indeed, her voice _was_ still, incongruously, the same breathy coo she was railing about.

Hawke snorted again, and shook her head. "Maybe I should just get my throat cut like Martin's was. Maybe then people might start taking me seriously, with such a _lovely_ rasp to back me up."

She shoved her chair back from the table, stood up and leaned forward, fists planted on the wooden planking, glaring at the storyteller in frustration. "So, yes, now I'm going to head down to Darktown, _all by my widdle self_, and probably get my heart stepped on _again_, but it's _my_ damned choice. Hopefully, one day my friends will learn to accept the gifts I give them as just that - a way to thank them for keeping me alive, for helping me out, or just for being my friends, and not as overtures for sex, bribes for favors or for pity.

"You know as well as I, Varric, we all could have - no, probably _would_ have - died in the Deep Roads if it wasn't for Anders being there to heal us and sense darkspawn and keep us going every damned step of the way, no matter how much he hated being there. I know Fenris would rather bite his tongue out than use it to thank a mage, and I'd be willing to bet a fistful of sovereigns that you haven't managed to say anything more heartfelt than 'thanks for putting the blood back in, Blondie.' So, it falls to me, as the one who insisted on dragging him back into a stinking nightmare he'd hoped to escape, to express simple gratitude. As for anything beyond that - well, I'd say that's none of your damned business; and furthermore..." here Hawke stopped, shaking her head. She drew a slow, deep breath, then released it. "And _furthermore_, I'm sorry I cracked your mug. I'll get you a new one."

With that, she turned and left his rooms, still with light, dancing steps, but radiating a fierce energy that practically _begged_ for somebody to do or say something stupid. Still finishing his first mug, Varric gave her a few seconds, then moved to the top of the stairs to signal one of his people for shadow duty.

Without even looking back, Hawke paused at the door. Her aura of potential violence had left a trail of wary looks and paused conversations in her wake. Very clearly, he heard her purr, "Var-_ric_ ...?" That was all she said before she pushed on through the door, but he waved his man off. Wouldn't be right to get him killed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
><strong>  
>All the way down the seemingly endless flights of stairs that separated Lowtown from Darktown, Hawke kept up a silent running conversation - or maybe it was an argument - with herself. Her lips were moving, anyway, and sometimes one or both hands would wave violently about. With her brows drawn down in an angry squint as she stalked along, most people gave her a wide berth. It was also to her advantage, thanks mostly to Varric's yarning, that down here she was known as "the one who put the <em>red<em> in Red Irons."

So what if she now had money, and the burgeoning power to go with it? Her mother was already busily trying to restore the name of Amell by removing the tarnish of "mage lovers" and "mage get" that many of her contemporaries still remembered. Instead, careful rumors had been set that Leandra had gone to Ferelden to escape the attentions of de Launcet - now conveniently married and, scandalously enough, father to a mage himself. It was a much more romantic and politically astute history she was building. Carver was lionized as the true hero of the family, tragically slain by darkspawn as Leandra attempted to return from her self-imposed exile. Bethany was tucked away in the Gallows - and just _who_ had turned her in, Hawke wondered bitterly? Certainly, no acknowledgement of her existence was even whispered any more. As for the eldest Hawke child? Well, she might be headstrong and a little ... wild, but at least she wasn't a _mage_. Surely marriage would settle her down.

Surely it _would_, she thought bitterly. But not to any velvet-clad Hightown noble who would look down on her Fereldan origins even as he sucked up to her current prestige. No, the man she wanted was _here_, down with the other Fereldans, down with the peasants and the dirt. And because he was who he was, _what_ he was, no marriage would ever be condoned, not by Leandra, or by the Chantry.

She stopped on the stairs leading up to the open area outside of the clinic doors, appalled. There were so _many_ gathered! The weeks they'd been gone in the Deep Roads hadn't been good for Anders, and evidently, they hadn't been good for the refugees, either. Well, now she had the means to start making it up to all of them, she hoped. Slowly, she began working her way through the crowd - asking questions and trying to chivvy the people into some sort of order. Coughs and minor complaints she gently but firmly moved towards the flickering fire pits in the back of the area. It was early spring, and many colds were surfacing, but they could be dealt with more easily by staying warm, and eating better - both things she could actually provide now, without having to further burden Anders.

It turned out that today there were really _no_ major injuries requiring immediate healing. Most of them had just gathered to see for themselves that the healer had returned, safe and sound. Down here, he was treasured. He was one of their own and they wanted to make sure he knew it.

She selected a barrel that was near the wall by the doors and jumped up onto it, so she could be seen. "All right, everyone. Please, listen up." There were indulgent smiles, and a few catcalls, but she kept a grip on her temper and ignored them. "Those of you who need warm clothing and some food, go to Lirene's two days from now. I'm going to start making some basic necessities available there. We Fereldans have to watch out for each other, right? But for now, I must beg you to give the healer a chance to recover, so he can keep helping you. True, the Dark Roads weren't as bad as it is here in the Undercity," and she gave a quirky grin, "but they do take a bit out of you, nonetheless." Scattered chuckles and the beginnings of a general drift towards the stairs was her reward as she hopped down again and went into the clinic, bracing for battle.

No matter how stubbornly he protested or pleaded urgent need to care for his patients, she was getting him out of here for a day or two, she promised herself. Even if she had to knock him out to do it. She owed him that much, at least.

"Anders, do you ...?" she trailed off quickly, seeing that he was involved in what looked like a healing as intense as the one he'd been performing the first time they'd met. Silently, she advanced towards the cot, where the mother and father were holding each other tightly as the mage bathed the small form in front of him with blue healing energy.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** The healing scene of this chapter is dedicated fully and without reservation to Julian May's Grandmaster Redactor, Elizabeth Orme.

**Chapter 3  
><strong>  
>"Anders, do you ..." The voice - vibrant, penetrating and so damnably enticing, echoed dully off the stone walls.<p>

Wanting to grin in spite of himself, in spite of the fatigue and strain of this particular healing, the mage merely shook his head slightly and poured more of the blue healing energy dredged from his soul into the working. The girl-child on the cot before him stirred, legs moving randomly in a futile attempt at escape, mouth pulling down in anguish. He ached to see her pain, but he could also see the growth distorting her neck was starting to shrivel, shrinking in on itself. Finally, with a last surge of effort that left him trembling, he cut off the flow of light and warmth and slumped against the cot's side, fingers clenched on the rough canvas in an attempt to keep himself upright.

"Once more, next week, should see it done," he said faintly. "In the meantime, keep her quiet, and keep applying the poultices - hot as you can make them..." Annoyingly enough, his voice just _stopped_ in his throat, and the whole chamber shifted at a sickening angle. He heard the mother gasp, _felt_ the father lunge towards him as he started to fall, but then a bony shoulder was there, digging uncomfortably into his ribs and bearing him up with surprising strength.

"You silly _ass_," a voiced hissed in exasperation.

Moving in a parody of a staggering, drunken dance, and keeping up a running diatribe of vile threats to his person, his patients and even to his cat - if he was ever lucky enough to have one again - Hawke supported the reeling mage to the rickety stool set behind the cot at the chamber's wall.

"Maker's shriveled _dick_, Anders! Are you actually _trying_ to kill yourself?" With a grunt, Hawke shifted the mage's weight from her shoulder and practically dropped him onto the seat. She steadied him with a hand clasped on each shoulder, fingers ruffling the feathered pauldrons of his robe, lowering her head to stare at him accusingly. "Every time I come here, it seems you're running yourself into the ground. Or is it that you just don't want to work with me anymore?" she continued shrewdly.

Anders just groaned tiredly and slumped back against the wall. "Close it up, please, Hawke?" he whispered.

She let go of his shoulders and stood back, appraising his condition closely for a few seconds. Satisfied that he wasn't in any immediate danger of falling off the stool, Hawke turned to the shocked parents and tried her best to smile reassuringly.

"Here, now, let's get your little one bundled and warm, shall we?" Suiting action to words, she pressed the shawl draped over the foot of the cot into the father's hands and gestured for the mother to pick up her toddler. While the parents attended to their girl's needs, Hawke looked under the cot and found a couple of poultices already tied together. "I'm guessing these will be what the healer wanted you to use, no doubt."

When they started to make vague noises about wanting to thank the healer properly, she shook her head and began shooing them towards the doors. "I'll make sure he knows, my friends. But right now he _must_ rest," she said through a fixed smile that began to feel more like the bared teeth of a mabari.

Hawke stopped just short of actually _shoving_ them out of the clinic space, and immediately began to tug on the massive door before anybody else could intrude. "And just how many of you can he heal if he's _dead_?" she muttered under her breath, sighing in relief as the hinges creaked and the latch dropped into place. Those doors should be closed more often, she decided. But then where would the needy go? What would happen if there was a true emergency and the lanterns weren't lit?

Scrubbing her fingers along the top of her scalp in frustration, Hawke started to walk back to Anders. It just seemed suspiciously _wrong_ that there was no other mage in all of Kirkwall, Circle or free, who was trained in the healer's arts. _Except Bethany_, her mind whispered. _She was starting to learn, at least._ Was _that_ why Bethany had been taken? Was Meredith seeking a monopoly on healing as a way to further her power in the city? Hawke knew, from overheard complaints and conversations with Lady Elegant, that the prices charged by the Gallows tranquil for even basic healing potions were vastly inflated.

Or - bloody Maker - had _Leandra_ seen it as a way to further her climb up the social ladder? _Dear Knight Commander, I offer my apostate daughter as a sign of contrition._ No, she decided uneasily. As much as her mother seemed to have reverted to the casual cruelty and entitlement of so many Hightown denizens, Hawke could not seriously contemplate Leandra condoning such a blatant betrayal of her youngest daughter, or her husband's memory. Could she?

_Shit. Anders isn't the only one who needs to get out of this poisonous place for a while_, was her grim thought as she stopped in front of him.

She was unsurprised to see that he was already asleep, lips slightly parted and a gentle snore escaping them with each deep breath. She was also unsurprised at the familiar way her muscles clenched, from her rib cage all the way down to her toes, when she looked at his face. Every time she saw him, it was the same.

Careful not to wake him, she leaned forward to brush her fingertips through the feathers on his shoulders, smoothing them where her earlier grip had rumpled them. This close, she could simply breathe in his exhalations, grateful for even such a small sense of connection to him. _No wonder they all see me as a child_, she thought ruefully. _Pining for him like an Orlesian milkmaid swooning over the handsome Chevalier as he rides past._

True - the hollowed, unshaven cheeks, the too sharp blade of a nose, even the dirty strands of hair that straggled across his forehead - none of them matched the immaculately turned-out hero found in Orlesian courtly romances. But to her eye, those so-called flaws, when combined with the strength of his soul, made him all the more desirable. He was imperfect, and that meant he was perfect for her.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** The last paragraph of Chapter 3 was an absolute _bear_ to write. It fought dirty, it kicked sand in my face and then, suddenly, it said, "Okay, here's how it's gotta be," and Grace Jones started purring in my head. Check out YouTube for "I'm Not Perfect." Agreed, the genre is totally AU, but I can easily picture Hawke and Anders dancing to this song - because hey, she's a rogue who dances with death all the time, and _mmmmm_, have you ever just spent an entire battle watching how Anders _moves_ when he fights? And of course, the lyrics are _perfect_.

**Chapter 4  
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>Even though it probably wasn't the most comfortable of positions, Hawke decided to let Anders nap on the stool for as long as possible while she worked on bundling up discarded rags, bedding and clothing to take back to Hightown for a thorough washing. All the while, she prayed to the Maker that no emergencies would arise before she could get the mage safely away from the city. <em>Great Maker, I promise I'll stop blaspheming all your naughty bits, if you'll just let this <em>work.

She deposited the meagre pile right next to the door and decided it was finally time to rouse the mage. After all, she still had to convince him to come with her. She paused a few seconds, savoring the luxury of just being able to stare at him, letting her imagination conjure up some truly thrilling ideas. "Stop it," Hawke whispered to herself. Still, she would not deny herself a few tiny pleasures. She brushed the loose strands of hair back from his forehead, then cupped her palm to his cheek.

"Anders? Wake up, love," she breathed. His head swiveled slightly to rest more firmly against her hand, and a faint contented sound came from deep in his throat. Her muscles clenched again, and she reluctantly pulled her hand away. This was about _giving_ him something, she reminded herself. Not about what _she_ wanted.

"All right, Anders, you've had at _least_ an hour's sleep," she said aloud, and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. As he groaned and started to stir, she kept her hand on his shoulder in case he didn't realize he wasn't in bed and started to... "Whups, stand _up_, Anders, you can't roll over."

"Hawke?" he said through the end of a jaw-stretching yawn. "What are you doing here? Does anybody need healing?" He raised his hands and rubbed vigorously at his eyes, before rolling his head back and forth a few times to loosen his neck. Concerned, he blinked at her, then memory returned and he grimaced. _Andraste's flaming fundament! Why is it she always shows up when the more difficult healings leave me looking so inadequate?_ he thought.

"Thanks for your help, Hawke, but I should really be..." bracing hands on knees he began to rise.

"No," she said firmly, stepping back to allow him room.

"But that little girl," he tried next, staring down at her with earnest honey-brown eyes.

"No," she repeated and, greatly daring, reached up to put one finger against his lips.

She was pretty sure the light was dim enough to prevent him from seeing the quick shiver that jolted down her body, especially since she was wearing her leathers, but she smiled and pulled her hand back hastily. _If only I wasn't so weak, I could love him as he needs._

He was pretty sure she didn't hear the involuntary growl her touch startled up from his diaphragm, because of all the ambient noise of Darktown, but he smiled and forced his hand to remain at his side instead of reaching for her. _If only I wasn't so weak, I could love her as she deserves._

"Very well, then, what _am_ I allowed to do, Hawke?" he asked, hiding behind the humor again.

"You're coming out to Sundermount with me. No bloody questions asked, no pointless protests allowed," she replied, hiding behind the fierce banter again. She motioned him towards the outer doors, and after a slight pause, he followed. _Too easy_, she thought.

"Who else is coming?" he asked. "What should I bring?" He gestured towards his leather satchel, sitting slouched and half empty on the floor by the door to his room.

"We don't need anything, actually. Keeper Marethari has already made preparations." Hawke glanced casually over at the mage as they reached to door. "And nobody else is coming," she raised one hand to forestall his protest, "because I think this is something really important, and I need _your_ opinion on it." She lifted the latch and slowly pushed the door open, peering through the crack to check for potential problems - whether refugee or Coterie. But except for the usual squatters by the estate cellar entrance, they were free and clear. _Thank you, Maker._

She turned to Anders and raised one eyebrow at his troubled look. "Maker's hairy - uh... _beard_, Anders. I understand that you're not interested." _What?_

"And I swear this isn't some ploy to get you alone and throw myself at you." _Shit._

"Besides, that's more Isabela's style, right?" _Shut up._ "It's just that I found an odd entry in my father's journal when I was reading through it a few nights ago. The first time I first read it, we were still living in Lothering. I was only a teenager, and it didn't really make an impression because it was about such a faraway place, so I forgot it. But now that we're actually here, in the Free Marches, I finally understood _why_ he wrote it. So, quest time!" She smiled at him, then, and the outright glee in her expression finally made him laugh.

"All right, all right - you win, Hawke. But please? Let me at least bring a few potions?" Taking her exaggerated eye roll and long-suffering sigh as confirmation, he hurried back and looped his bag over his shoulder. He would feel _naked_ without it, he thought. And blushed. _Not interested? Oh, Hawke, if you only knew..._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** I've just experienced something I'd always heard about, but didn't really believe in *koffSantakoff*. As I've already said, this story started as a one-shot - short, sweet and fluffy. Then it got a bit longer, because I had a few ideas I wanted to explore. But after starting this chapter, Anders and Hawke shoved me out of the way entirely. This is coming from _them_. And it's frightening and exhilarating at the same time, like any good ride. I hope you'll come with me and see where they go, because - for a while at least - I'm not in control anymore.

**Chapter 5  
><strong>  
>Apparently, the Dalish were nothing if not thorough, for the Sundermount approach was clear just as the Keeper had promised. No dragonlings, no swarms of bandits. Just a few birds floating lazily in the warm air currents funneled up the narrow arroyos from the sun-warmed white sand path.<p>

Hawke hated it. It just felt utterly wrong not to be engaged in a life-or-death struggle every few miles. Her hands kept twitching, moving to reach for the blades crossed at her back. She kept forcing them down, telling herself to relax and failing miserably.

"Anders," she said abruptly, then floundered, knowing what she wanted to say, but completely unsure of how to say it.

"What?" he replied, just as sharply.

Startled by his tone, she glanced at him, and realized in a flash that he was feeling just as jumpy as she was. Hawke chuckled. "Oh, this is ridiculous," she said. "Beautiful spring day, warm sun, fluffy clouds - and the two of us so busy waiting for an ambush that we can't enjoy it."

Her quick grasp of what had been bothering them both made him grin. "It's pathetic, isn't it," he agreed. "A springtime stroll with my... with you shouldn't be so tense." He'd stumbled over it, but Hawke was already going off on another tangent and thankfully hadn't noticed. Relieved, he listened happily to the sound of her voice, enjoying the feeling it stirred in his...belly.

"Anyway, I've been trying to come up with a route - but it needs one more piece to make it work. Not that I'm asking you to come along again - I know you hated it - but do you have any more maps of other Deep Roads passages, Anders? Ones that go somewhere or actually lead to entrances outside of the Free Marches?"

"What!" Reflexively, Anders grabbed her arm and yanked her to face him, all traces of humor erased in an instant. "Maker, no! Wasn't once bad enough? What could possibly possess you to even think of risking yourself again?"

Ignoring his fingers digging into her arm, even though they were tight enough to hurt, Hawke stared up at Anders, seeing the shocked look in his eyes, hearing how afraid he was, not of the Roads - but for her - and the restraints she'd kept on herself for so long started to crack.

"It's Bethany, Anders. I've got to get her out the Gallows - away from Kirkwall entirely. As an apostate, she's years past the normal age of Harrowing - when they took her they told us that she might not even be _allowed_ a Harrowing - she'd been free for so long she could already be possessed..." she couldn't go on. The fear she'd been keeping locked away ever since she'd stepped through the door of Gamlen's house to see her sister surrounded by Templars swept over her. Her legs buckled, and for a second she dangled in Anders' grip like a broken doll, gasping but still unable to cry.

Shocked at her sudden collapse, Anders dropped to his knees and swept his other arm around her waist, releasing his hold on her arm and stroking his hand up and down the back of her neck. "Shhh, shhh, I've got you. I'm here," he whispered, and that was all it took.

It all came out at last - punctuated by anguished sobs - a jumbled, chaotic flood of guilt and shame, suspicions and fear. Carver's pointless death - of course only _he_ would be stupid enough to attack an ogre head on. Why hadn't he just pushed mother out of the way? Standing over his mangled body wanting to scream and vomit and just having to _take_ Leandra blaming her for not saving him. The empty words of comfort from a dying Templar. Coming to Kirkwall - of all places - the place her father had risked everything to escape. Leandra's continued obsessive efforts to erase the past. Having to maintain the constant facade of strength and surety, dragging her friends into fights and danger that always seemed to end in murder and fear, just to scrape a living. Leaving Bethany behind in an attempt to keep her safe but instead dooming her to captivity or death or...other abuses. And what if they made her Tranquil?

"I've just never done anything right," Hawke said at last, falling silent with a shuddering sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** Anders is a canny bastard. He's had more practice at evading serious conversation than Hawke, but I think I finally managed to convince him to open up. It was hard for him, and I almost wish I'd let him be, but he needed to let it go just as badly as Hawke did.

**Chapter 6**

Tears of shame and remorse leaked steadily from Anders' closed eyes as he listened to Hawke unburdening herself at last. All through the recitation of her imagined failings, as her body sank slowly lower in the circle of his arm, he never let his hand falter as he stroked the back of her neck, cupping it so his fingertips and the heel of his palm pressed gently on the tensed muscles on either side of her spine.

Suffering _Andraste_. She'd been so strong for everybody else for so long, constantly shouldering all their problems as if they were her own. His as well, he reminded himself sharply. When he'd demanded her help for Karl in exchange for those poxy maps - half joking about wanting Meredith's head - she'd calmly agreed. And that night, still with that assured calm, she'd killed any Templar that came near him - and helped him find the courage to free Karl at last.

Such unquestioning trust - such unshakeable loyalty she'd given him - and in return he'd pushed her away, time and again. _I was trying to protect her. Instead I've made her doubt herself even more._

"I've just never done anything right," she said, and his stomach twisted when he heard the note of flat defeat in her usually vibrant voice.

_I don't know what Hawke has seen in me, but I'm going to find a way to show her she's right._ Anders opened his eyes and squinted against the bright afternoon light, blinking away his tears. Hawke had managed to get her legs back under her at some point, and was now kneeling in front of him, head pressed against his chest. She kept her face turned away, body still shaking from the intensity of her outburst.

He moved his hand up from her neck, and gently combed his fingers through the short-cropped hair behind her ear, while his other arm remained wrapped firmly around her waist. "Hawke," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "Hawke, you've never done anything wrong. No matter what the situation, your reaction has always been the right choice - always. You're a strong, capable woman. Never doubt that."

She moved, finally, raising her face and pinning him with a piercing gaze that demanded the truth. "Do you truly believe that, or is it just more reassurance for a child?" she countered, voice still flat. "There's more to age than years, Anders. I've lived through too much since my father died to think any differently."

Anders met her eyes without hesitation. "It's what I _know_, Hawke. I've known it for a very long time. But that day in the clinic, when you came in...when I saw your face." He withdrew his hand from her hair and used one finger to trace the line of her brow and temple, then cupped it against her cheek. "Just for a moment you looked so very much like someone I knew... the one who..." he shook his head and sighed in resignation.

"It's an ugly little story, Hawke, and Maker knows I don't want to keep burdening you with my problems, but you deserve the truth. The last time I got away from Kinloch Hold, I'd made a promise; and I honestly didn't know if I'd be able to keep it, if I...if I let myself... dream of a future with you. But now, I know I can - you've shown me how."

He saw the way her eyes widened slightly at his admission, and bent his head down to breathe into her ear. "Believe me, dear heart, it's been the hardest thing in my life to keep denying you." He hugged her tightly then pulled back and stood, drawing her up after him with both hands.

They stood and gazed at each other for a moment, then Hawke smiled shyly and squeezed Anders' hands gently before letting go. "Thank you," she said, and the life was back in her voice.

There was still a slight air of vulnerability surrounding Hawke as they started walking again, but Anders noticed that her usual dancing steps had reappeared almost immediately. He grinned in admiration at his friend's resilience, then sobered. It was time. As the path became steeper and their pace slowed, Anders began to talk, already dreading Hawke's reaction when she heard what he'd done - well, what he'd allowed to happen - in his selfish quest for freedom.

"The final time I escaped from Kinloch Hold, several Templars were killed. The warrant held by the ones who caught up to me in Amaranthine named me as the 'primary instigator of a rebellion,'" Anders said. "Complete line of shit, of course, but I was a convenient target. Actually, at the time, I was still recuperating from my last round of - discipline - imposed by the Knight-Commander as punishment for my previous escape." The bitter note in his voice when he spoke of his punishment did not escape Hawke, but since he was obviously trying to keep the tone casual, she made herself let it go - for now.

"I was finally able to make it down to the dining hall without help, and I saw many new faces. No surprise there; it had been a year, after all. But one caught my attention almost immediately. There was a Dalish girl sitting alone at the far end of one of the tables. The space around her was probably because of the four Templars standing behind her along the wall - but I didn't care. She looked interesting. Dangerous, even. Dalish don't usually get caught in the Chantry's net.

"Her name was Zeyra and after three minutes' conversation with her, I realized she was barking mad." Hawke glanced sidelong at the mage, and saw that he was smiling faintly at the memory.

"Of course, _all_ Dalish women are insane to one degree or another, but she was an extremely crazy specimen. Naturally, I was entranced. She was lithe and dark-haired and her _vallaslin_ were pale lavender. She smelled like heather and starlit fields. She was the First for her clan, and they'd been looking for another clan because their Keeper had died. Zeyra was quite skilled, and loaded with raw power, but she still lacked the training for her clan to be comfortable with her as Keeper. Unfortunately, they camped too long near a village whose Chantry was garrisoned by more recruits than knighted Templars. Nerves frayed, tempers flared and before you know it: dead knife ears, captured apostate and a job well-done." Through his anger, Anders realized that small fingers were now interlaced with his own in silent understanding.

The mage slanted a bleak smile at Hawke. "Because she was a heathen un-Harrowed apostate, they locked Zeyra in a cell every night until they could decide what to do with her. Most of the Templars just wanted to kill her and be done with it, but I guess Irving finally spoke up for her. After the fifth night, they generously decided they'd offer her the usual choice - Harrowing or the brand." Anders' voice was growing more and more strained, and Hawke pulled him to a stop.

"Anders, are you sure this is...," she started to say, distressed at how upset he was getting.

"I've got to finish it, Hawke," he interrupted, and took a deep breath. "I owe her that much."

But he stayed where he was, staring ahead at the mountain walls rising to meet them as they finally approached the folded hills at Sundermount's feet. His fingers tightened against hers, and his voice was very quiet as he continued.

"That final night, just before we'd finished eating, she leaned across the table and said, 'They mean to put me to the Harrowing tomorrow. I mean to show them the _true_ meaning of the word.' Then she winked at me like it was a great joke and whispered, 'Be ready to run, _shem_. And don't look back.'"

"So the next night I stayed in the library, pretending to read and waiting for midnight. I had almost drifted off when the entire floor jerked and trembled and knocked me out of my chair. At the same time, the big bell in the Templar's quarters on the fourth floor started tolling the alarm. I bolted for the hallway into the apprentice dormitories, and templars ran past me heading for the stairs. The whole place was starting to creak and shift, and I saw bloody _tree roots_ poking up through the paving stones.

"Of course, I've seen Dalish magic since then, but as you can guess - at the time I was shitting my smalls. When I came into the entry hall all the guards were wrapped in more roots and screaming for the Maker. So I left - just walked out the bloody doors like I was the Queen of Antiva going for a stroll in the garden.

"There was a little rowboat the Templars kept for when supplies were running low and the Tower didn't have any meat left - they'd either send someone over to the shore to buy supplies, or just fish in the lake. The good thing about rowboats, you have to keep your eyes locked over your shoulder at where you're going, so I didn't have to look back. So that's how I got away. I let a mage sacrifice herself to free me."

Anders turned to face Hawke, and reached for her other hand. "When I first saw you in the clinic, for one mad second, I thought you were Zeyra. And that night in the Chantry, when I saw just how willing you were to sacrifice yourself, I realized I'd been given a chance to atone. I'm just sorry I chose the wrong way to go about it."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** We kan haz fluff naow, plz?

**Chapter 7  
><strong>  
>Anders waited. Watched and waited. For the inevitable change of expression, the frown, the unmistakable <em>distancing<em> to happen.

Hawke drew breath to speak, and he tensed. Here it came. _Fool. You've lost her just as she was ready to be found._ She paused a moment longer, then - impossibly - she smiled. She _giggled_. She dropped his hands, wrapped her slender arms around his midriff and squeezed until he found it hard to breathe, laughing up at him with sparkling eyes.

"Hawke, what I did was selfish, inexcusable," he said plaintively, confused and almost - yes - almost _angry_. "How can you laugh?"

She stopped laughing, but she didn't stop smiling. "What you _did_, Anders, was offer friendship and kindness to someone in desperate need of both. Zeyra's clan was dead and she knew she'd never leave Kinloch again. She'd probably planned on killing every _shem_ in the Tower. It wasn't sacrifice, love, it was thanks. And I'd be willing to bet you good money that not a single mage even ended up being hurt - all because of you."

Hawke waited. Watched and waited. For his eyes to widen, the faint smile, the unmistakable realization to hit.

"Healer," she said in affirmation, and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "You're a caring, giving man, Anders. Never doubt that."

Anders swallowed convulsively, then whispered, "And do you truly believe that, or is it just reassurance for a stubborn fool?" _Maker, Andraste, flames and mercy. Did she really say...?_

"I know it, love. I've known it for a very, _very_ long time," she said - gently mocking - and this time she didn't kiss his cheek.

"I'd have thought it would have been dark by now," Anders mused when the kiss finally wound down with a gentle sigh and a last brush of lips.

"We could try again," Hawke suggested breathily. "But we really should head onto the Dalish camp. Marethari is expecting us, after all. Besides, if we don't hurry, Sundermount is likely to give us a more lively welcome than I'd hoped."

As they continued, Hawke frowned thoughtfully. "Anders, tell me - what was your promise, then? Now that I know why you've been treating me as if I might...break," her voice faltered for a moment as she realized the irony of what she'd said, "that still doesn't tell me what the promise was, or how I've helped you keep it."

"I'll tell you once we get to the camp...love," Anders replied, relishing the feeling it gave him to finally say it aloud. "Maybe while we discuss finding some more maps of the Deep Roads." He grinned at her skeptical look and explained, "I'd have to steal more, and that could take some time. Over her outraged exclamation of "Steal?" he continued jokingly, "So, were you _really_ that offended when I kept throwing myself in front of you during fights?"

"Well, only sometimes," she drawled in return, and smiled wickedly. "Didn't you _ever_ stop to think what would have happened to me if a golem had knocked you backwards while you were wearing rock armor?" Her delighted laughter rang down off the looming rock walls and ruined battlements as they entered the final ascent to the Dalish encampment.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** Yeah, one shot. Riiiiiiight. I'm going to be away for a few days, so don't be alarmed. I already have plans in place for finally Climbing. The. Damned. Mountain! and giving Anders his gift already ...

**Chapter 8  
><strong>  
>It was already deep twilight when they passed the two sentinels at the edge of the camp, pausing to reassure themselves that the Keeper was expecting visitors. The sun had dropped beneath the highest slopes of Sundermount, and while the western sky was still alight with blazing orange clouds, the eastern sky was already a rich blue deepening to indigo on the horizon.<p>

As they approached the central fire where the Keeper stood warming her hands, the elven woman greeted them graciously, as always. "_Andaran atish'an_, Hawke, Anders," she said, inclining her head in a brief nod.

Anders raised an eyebrow, surprised that she even knew his name. "Keeper Marethari, it's good to see you again. I'd like to offer my services, if anyone has need of them."

She smiled warmly and raised her voice, querying the clan. Almost immediately, a few of the hunters came forward, some limping, others with rough bandages applied to various small wounds. "A service for a service. It is appreciated, young man."

Hawke watched Anders walk over to one of the _aravels_, which he quickly adapted to provide a turn as a diagnostic table and healing platform. She turned back to the Keeper with a small frown on her face.

"I didn't intend for your hunters to be harmed, Keeper," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry for any trouble my request has caused."

"Give it no further thought, child," the older woman said, raising one hand in a graceful gesture. "You have done the clan a great service as well, and this small task provided a distraction for some of the younger hunters who grow impatient with waiting.

"But you seem to have been delayed in the journey. We expected you nearer mid-day. Did you encounter any difficulties?" The Keeper noted how Hawke's gaze kept straying to the aravel where Anders worked, and nodded quietly to herself.

"Hmmmm? Oh, no - no real problems along the way - your hunters did an admirable job," Hawke replied quickly, glossing over the emotional stresses of the day. "We were delayed in Kirkwall because Anders had a difficult healing to finish, and then he needed to rest. Or rather, he collapsed and I _made_ him rest," she amended.

Marethari observed the color in the young woman's face and decided to tease her, just a little. "The fire is a little warm right now, isn't it? Would you like to go see how your young man is doing?"

"Thank you, no, Keeper. I can see him just fine from here." Still blushing, Hawke tilted a knowing grin at the woman and continued, "but if you'd like to keep calling him 'young' man to his face, I'd appreciate it."

Marethari actually smiled. "The love of a worthy man is a wonderful gift, indeed, Hawke. It gladdens me to see that you have found it."

"That's all settled, then," Anders' cheery voice reached them, and he joined them at the fire, moving to stand close beside Hawke. "Maker, but I could wish the refugees in Darktown were half as healthy as your people, Keeper. It would make healing them so much easier without the complications of malnutrition and living right on top of the sewers." With only the slightest hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Hawke's shoulder, pulling her tight.

Marethari smiled again. "Indeed, young man. But it seems you have found an able First. I will see that some room is made in one of the _aravels_ for your rest tonight." She bowed slightly, and went to speak with the hunters.

"So, this service for a service she spoke of," he said, looking at Hawke with a slight smile. "Should I assume that is why we didn't have any run-ins on our way here?"

"Yes, Anders. I sent Marethari a message requesting her help when I found that entry in my father's journal. I knew we had to come out here, but I knew I didn't want to bring anyone else either. Not that I don't I trust them - well, most of them, at any rate," she corrected, when he gave a quiet snort. "But this is for Bethany, and I just couldn't risk the wrong ears picking up even a hint of what I'm hoping to do.

"And as wonderful as you are in a fight, and as _madly_ skilled as I am, I still didn't want the added problems of running battles as soon as we left the city. Besides," she continued in a softer voice, pitched for his ears alone, "I would never want to share what has happened between us today."

The fire crackled quietly, casting half of her face in deepest shadow as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. He lowered his face so he could brush his lips against hers in silent agreement.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N ALERT** I had not anticipated it at all when I started, but beginning with this chapter, my rating is hereby upgraded to an M for assorted saucy bits, and will include Possible Trigger Warnings in the A/N where needed. Through no damned fault of his own, Anders has broken my heart. I just have to console myself with the fact that he cannot break Hawke's.

**Chapter 9  
><strong>  
>Once full night had fallen, the elves began to gather at the central fire for the evening meal, which consisted of a meat broth thickened with a few mushrooms and cattail corms. Hunting on the slopes of Sundermount had become extremely hit or miss over the winter, and the higher elevation of the camp so early in the spring had limited the clan's gathering parties. Both Anders and Hawke added the jerky they had in their travel pouches, but it was still a meagre repast.<p>

It bothered Hawke enough to speak with the Keeper and offer a possible solution. "Keeper Marethari, if you don't mind my suggesting it, I would like to have my friend Varric speak with you. He has some connections in Kirkwall with the Merchant's Guild, and I'm sure he would be glad to secure supplies of grain and vegetables in exchange for some of Master Ilen's handiwork - at least until the spring weather settles and the hunting improves."

The older woman nodded in agreement. "It has been a lean time for us here, and I am afraid we still have not found any sister clans who can spare enough halla to aid us in continuing our journeys. If Ilen is willing, we will look into it." She had looked across the fire to where the craftsmaster was sitting, alternating eating with quietly lecturing his apprentices.

"Indeed, Keeper. A fine idea," he replied, with an almost calculating look on his face. "Most of the items being crafted by these two," he jerked his head at the two younger elves, "are finally at a level I would consider worthwhile. Certainly good enough to sell to outsiders." There was a small burst of laughter from the rest of the clan, and the two apprentices flushed in pleased embarrassment at the back-handed compliment.

_How does she always know?_ Anders marveled, smiling his approval at the woman tucked under his arm as she pressed herself to his side, one small hand cupped on the point of his knee. _How to help, what to say, where to bloody be at just the right moment? Like when I've overextended myself yet again on a healing. Varric was right about her, even if the nickname wasn't the most diplomatic of choices.  
><em>  
>Then <em>Hahren<em> Paivel stood, beginning a tale of one of the numerous elven Creators and their ancient battle against the forces of the Abyss. Unfortunately, neither Anders nor Hawke were able to pay more than cursory attention to the story, because Hawke began to stroke Anders' leg with an agonizingly slow, almost invisible movement, flexing her fingertips at random intervals.

Trembling with barely concealed frustration, he forced himself to sit still, gaze locked on the elven man's face as he droned on and on, while Hawke's touch - seemingly unimpeded by the leather of his coat and the heavy weave of his leggings - burned its way up his thigh. Once, near the end of the story, he made an involuntary strangled grunt which he struggled to turn into a cough. She had reached the upper limit of his leg and had dug into the crease between thigh and groin with one finger, pressing and releasing rapidly on the pulse point for a few heartbeats.

Hawke smiled to herself. She'd have to thank Jethann for teaching her _that_ particular technique back when they'd been looking into the disappearance of that Orlesian toad's wife. Of course, he'd suggested demonstrating it on Hawke herself and had been charmingly disappointed when she'd asked him to just use his own leg as a visual aid. At the end of the impromptu lesson, he'd made her promise that she would let him know how it was received. She would never actually _tell_ him, of course, but a sovereign would probably give him an idea.

As the _Hahren's_ story came to a close, Hawke took pity on the mage at last and left off teasing him - physically, anyway. With a warm smile, she thanked the elven man for a most stimulating story and said she looked forward to repeating the evening's experience again.

Having regained his composure slightly when her hand left his thigh, Anders was able to voice his agreement in a pleasant enough tone, but he bent his head to Hawke's and promised retribution in a heated whisper that trailed off in a warm breath blown across her ear. He was rewarded immediately by feeling the shiver that shook her compact frame.

The clan began to disperse - some to guard positions, some to their pallets and a few to the _aravels_, which had their sails struck and converted into coverings for the bodies of the landships in case of unsettled weather. Marethari came to bid them good night.

"I had the _aravel_ on the edge of camp closest to the path prepared for you, Hawke," she said, gesturing upslope and away from the main concentration of the clearing. "That way when you set out, you needn't worry about disturbing anyone." She started to turn away, then suddenly smiled broadly - for a moment appearing no older than Merrill. "The noises from Sundermount are many and varied. However, we are used to them now, so we tend to be very sound sleepers, indeed. Pleasant dreams to you."

Caught out, Hawke blushed and looked at Anders contritely, but had to bite back a smile at the expression on his face. He looked equal parts aroused and mortified, but he was able to finally give a small laugh. "By Andraste's fiery globes, I don't know which is more disturbing," he admitted in a low voice. "Knowing that a woman old enough to be my grandmother is encouraging us, or that I'm grateful to her for giving us privacy."

"However," he continued seriously. "Isn't it time you told me a little more about what you're planning? I'll do anything for you, Hawke - you know that. But what is it we're doing? Something to save Bethany, obviously, but I'd think forcing that bastard magistrate to help with securing her release would be a fine first step."

"Believe me," she replied darkly, "I've thought about it, but I'm betting we could only use that kind of persuasion once or twice before he got desperate enough to try and have us killed, and no matter how that turned out, I'm sure his usefulness would be over." She pulled her travel pack in front of her and began untying the flap. "First things, first, though, my dear. You said you'd tell me what your promise at Kinloch was when we reached camp."

"Aye. I did, didn't I?" Anders said, sighing. "It's simple, really. After Zeyra chose to...end her life rather than stay in the Tower, I decided that no mage should ever be forced to such an extremity again." He swallowed, then continued. "I'd always thought just running away - fast enough or far enough - would be enough. But when Karl...when he first came to Kirkwall, he let me know that Zeyra's final defiance had killed more than twenty Templars. _Twenty_, Hawke! And that from an incompletely trained 'apostate.' I don't necessarily _want_ to kill, but if it's a choice between freeing a mage and that ... well, I'm a healer, as you've pointed out. But sometimes you have to harm to heal."

Hawke paused in pulling her father's journal out of the bag, feeling a vague uneasiness in the pit of her stomach as she heard the conviction in his voice. _But you've killed Templars, too,_ she reminded herself, _protecting Anders that very first night. And you'll kill as many more as are needed, to see Bethany safely away from here.  
><em>  
>"Well, what if I can show you a way we can get mages completely away from Kirkwall after <em>you've<em> gotten them out of the Gallows?" she tried for lightness, but at the suddenly closed look on Anders' face, Hawke realized she approached it the wrong way. This was _not_ a matter for teasing.

"How did you know about that, Hawke?" he asked urgently. "If someone's been talking - a lot of people are at risk," Anders ran a nervous hand along his jaw, and she could see he was afraid.

"No, no, Anders, nobody has said anything," she said, placing a reassuring hand on his chest and feeling his heart pounding in alarm. "It's just that I've noticed a pattern with you over the past several months. You'd be jumpy and keyed up for a few days, then you'd close the clinic and disappear for a day. The next night you'd show up at the Hanged Man and act like you were going to try drinking Isabela under the table. Finally, a few days later, you'd be back to normal. When I added your behavior to things I've overheard from Cullen or Thrask, I guessed you'd been... helping smuggle mages out of the Gallows."

The mage still looked worried. "If you've noticed that, Hawke, then what's to prevent others from drawing the same conclusions?"

Hawke took his hand and kissed the palm gently, before trailing her tongue across the width of it, smiling and doing it again when he gasped. "Because, my dearest, _I'm_ the only one who's been watching you obsessively for the better part of a year, trying to figure out just how to make you stop treating me like a little girl," she purred.

Anders had the grace to look embarrassed for a moment, then he smiled wickedly. "I'd be glad to show you just how grown up I think you are, love," and shifted his hand in hers so he could repeat the kiss and the gentle stroke of his tongue across her palm in turn.

Finally, Hawke cleared her throat and sighed. "All right, I should show you this before the fire goes out, and then we really should try to get some rest. There's an inscription with words that are bloody meaningless to me. I'm hoping they're mage terms and that you'll be able to tell me what they mean."

Her father's journal was a smallish book of rough-edged parchment pages sewed between thick black leather covers. On the front was a stylized bird shape, which appeared to have been cut into the leather with a belt knife. She held it open across her lap, and as she flipped through the pages, Anders had to stop himself from reaching out to turn back a page. He had seen what looked like an incantation.

Hawke paused and smiled at him in understanding. "You can borrow it to study whenever you like, love. Bethany is right, you're very much like father in many ways. I think he'd want you to share his knowledge. This was his grimoire while he was in Kirkwall, but later, he transcribed everything he could think of into the pages - whatever information he could glean from any source - it all fascinated him. He was in love with learning - and he tried to pass that on to us when we were children. The whole family has memories in here: I put in some recipes and dirty fighting tricks, Bethany has a compilation of healing herbs that were available around Lothering, and Carver," her smile became wistful, "well, Carver wasn't much into scribing, but he did do a series of rather questionable and graphic pictures on how to clean fish once you catch them.

"Even my mother 'contributed' something," and the smile changed again, to a horrible grimace that was all tooth and gum and somehow managed to make Hawke look like a mindless idiot - or a Hightown heiress, Anders realized. "The steps and measures for the Remigold, and other 'suitable' dances for young ladies of breeding. She used to have me and Bethany pair up and practice them whenever there was time."

She was silent for a few minutes, rifling the pages aimlessly, then she laughed and shook her head. "Well, I still remember how to do all of them, and I must admit they've helped my balance and coordination over the years. But if I ever run into any bandits who know the steps and recognize which dance I'm using, I'll be in big trouble."

While Anders chuckled evilly, picturing how scandalized Leandra would be at seeing her precious dances warped for use in battle, Hawke turned back to the journal and finally found the entry she had been looking for. "Right. This is the one. He was being deliberately obscure, in case he was taken, but it's easy enough to interpret, once someone has tromped all over this country like we have.

She began to read in a quiet voice. "'After Ser Woodworker facilitated my departure from the less salubrious portion of the Gallows, he set my feet on a path which would, in due course, lead me through sand and scrub, up hill and through dale, until with tiring steps I was swallowed by the gaping mouth of a monster most mountainous.'

"'Undeterred, I pressed forward, for I knew that whatever is consumed must issue forth again, in a new and different guise. The mouth and gullet of this monster were filled with stone-hard teeth, and soon I came upon a trail of liquid which led into its nether reaches. Not wishing to be digested, I had not yet mustered the courage to set foot to the slow moving stream. Then I heard a shout behind me. It was another Templar, Ser Malodorous, who apparently had missed my companionship, and desired to help speed me on my way.'"

Anders snorted. "Malodorous. Fitting. I'll just bet he did. I find it surprising enough that a Templar actually helped Malcolm escape in the first place."

"Father told us about him, once - when Carver had gotten into a fight with some village lads to protect Bethany. Ser Carver. According to my father, he was a true and just man, who considered it a sacred duty to protect and safeguard mages against anyone who would harm them."

Hawke turned a few more pages, and sighed. "All right, I'm going to paraphrase from here. It's an entertaining read - my father was a master of language tricks - but we're getting to the part where he started using words I'm not sure of.

"He basically goes on to say that he went ahead into the underground stream, with the Templar right behind him. It wasn't very deep, so he was able to stay in front of the man, but neither was he able to shake him off. Ser Carver had impressed on him that he _had_ to stay with the main branch, because leaving it would get him lost in the maze of caverns below Sundermount. He rounded a final bend, and plunged over the shelf of an underground lake. The Templar couldn't stop in time, and went in right behind him.

"My father always laughed at that point, and blessed the Circle for giving him cloth robes to wear, instead of a metal shirt. Once the bubbles stopped rising, he simply dove down to see what he could strip off the Templar to sell for coin. As an extra blessing, while digging through the fellow's belt pouch he also found his phylactery, which he promptly opened and let the blood swirl away into the water. After that, he swam across the lake - it wasn't very wide, and the current helped pull him along. Eventually, the outflow led him through Sundermount entirely, and out the other side.

"But this is the bit that has me completely stumped. He never would tell us what it meant. He said that was up to us to discover." Hawke tilted the book so Anders could read it.

_Victus astrum vadum rector vestri via.  
>Occulto vestri semita a singulus clamo<br>Mos liceor lemma pareo, quod loco lemma sicco._

_Ut periculosus obduco  
>Astrum vadum reverto.<br>Quod quondam iterum, suum incendia mos exuro._

Anders' voice deepened into a husky rumble as he finished. "Among his other accomplishments, your father was a poet," he said, smiling at Hawke.

Living stars shall guide your way.  
>To hide your path a single shout<br>Will bid them obey, and put them out.

When the danger's passed  
>The stars shall return<br>And once again, their fire will burn.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** Guess what? There's some fairly heavy groping in this chapter, because I can't, for the life of me, understand Bioware's sadistic fascination with making Hawke and Anders wait Three. Bloody. Years before they even kiss! Unfortunately, there are also some bad memories that will be surfacing as a result, so here's a **Major Trigger Warning** for non-con. I apologize for the dark turn. I have a very unpleasant vision of life in _any_ Circle, and I'm never at my best during the holidays. Also, I only have until Saturday before I move to the boonies - someplace without any internet connectivity. Shriek! However, I want to assure you all that I will be trying as hard as I can to finish this before then. If I don't, rest assured that I WILL find some way to update, probably with the connivance of my dear beta and partner in misdemeanors Snarkoleptic.

**Chapter 10  
><strong>  
>"Living stars..." Hawke repeated musingly. "Living? What kind of... Oh," her eyes widened suddenly, and Anders could see she had made some connection.<p>

"Oh, _very_ clever, Father" she said in admiration. "Here I'd been thinking it was some spell that had to be used along the way, but this is so much easier." She smiled impishly at Anders, who had raised an eyebrow at her cryptic words.

"Let me guess," he said wryly. "You're not going to tell me what you're thinking, are you? Instead you're going to make me plead with you for enlightenment." When Hawke nodded, the mage did his best to frown at her. "That's hardly fair, you know. After all, I translated it for you; and after that absolute torture you put me through during the _hahren's_ story, don't I deserve something?"

"All right, I do concede you deserve something for that, my love," Hawke said. "Which would you rather have? A boring explanation of my father's tricky poem, which would be more easily shown when we get there, or..." She leaned closer and used the very tip of her tongue to trace the outer curve of his ear, then gently nipped and pulled on the lobe with her teeth.

"_Or_ a personal apology in the privacy of the _aravel_?" She stroked her hand up his thigh again, more quickly this time, fingers flexed and nails catching and dragging at the material. But instead of stopping at the pulse point, her fingers ghosted a few inches further still. "If it would help, I will plead with _you_," she breathed, and dragged her fingers across the front of his leggings, feeling the first stirring of his response.

With a single graceful movement, she brought her legs under her and rose to her feet, completely missing the fleeting, unhappy look that crossed the mage's face. No less graceful for all his lanky height, Anders also rose and placed his hand on her shoulder while reaching to take her other hand and raise it to his lips in a hesitant kiss. "I...Hawke, you shouldn't..." The unhappy look was back on his face, and he turned his head away for a moment, chewing on the corner of his lower lip in agitation.

"Anders? What is it? Did I... Have I done something to upset you?"

Anders could hear the tiny quiver in Hawke's voice, and with a groan he pulled her tightly against him, squeezing her hand in his. "No, love. Never you. Pleading was...it was a thing of _theirs_," he whispered fiercely. "When certain of the templars were bored, or looking to teach a few lessons, then the pleading started - not that it ever helped."

Abruptly releasing her, he turned and began striding towards the _aravel_, drawing her after him. At the open back of the wagon, he turned and placed his hands on her waist, lifting her effortlessly so she was sitting on edge of the sleeping pallet covering the floor.

He kept one hand on her waist, and slid the other between her knees, turning it flat and spreading his fingers until she parted her legs enough to allow him to step forward. Then both hands moved to the small of her back, pulling her tightly against him once more.

He leaned forward so he could kiss her again - another feather light brush of lips against her mouth - while he stroked his hands up her back to tangle in her hair where it curled behind her ears. After a slow, gentle time of tasting her lips and opening his mouth to her tentative explorations in turn, Anders broke the kiss to draw the fingers of one hand down along her neck, tracing the same course a moment later with his mouth and nuzzling against the base of her throat where the skin disappeared under the shaped leather collar of her armor.

He was totally unprepared for Hawke's reaction. Her legs abruptly lifted and crossed behind him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. At the same time she locked her arms around his shoulders, fingers clenching desperately in the feathers of his pauldron while her entire body shook against his.

He paused for a moment, simply cradling her body and feeling the muscles spasming in her thighs, then repeated the motion of his fingers and lips down the other side of her neck. She trembled again and whimpered low in her throat. "Uhn...Uh An-ders," she gasped.

The sound crystalized his need for her, and he kissed and licked his way back up to her mouth. He remembered her reaction while they had been seated at the fire and turned his attention to her ear, first sucking on the lobe, then breathing across it with a sigh; drawing another moan from her, another incredible full body shiver.

He began kissing her with growing urgency, then, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, biting gently at her lips, feeling his cock stiffening where it was trapped between their bodies. _So long, it's been so long_, he thought dazedly, rolling and grinding his hips against her in time with the flexing of her heels.

_Pull aside your robe, hook a finger in your leggings and you're inside - easy as ever, eh?_ Suddenly, Anders' eyes opened and he gasped, pulling away from her welcoming heat. _What am I doing? This is_ Hawke! With an unsteady hand, the mage smoothed her tousled hair back from her face, shaking his head as she stared up at him, eyes wide and dark and wrenchingly unsure, but still wanting. Wanting _him_.

"Andraste forgive me, Hawke," he rasped. "_I will not use you_. I'm not going cheapen what you've given me with a quick tumble in the back of a cart. You deserve so much more ..." he continued, running his fingers through her hair, across her jawline. "In the past day, you've shown me more love and caring than I've known in my whole _life_.

"If I could only find some way of showing you how it's made me feel. I want to love you, I want _you_, but I don't know how to do it so it has meaning. I've been so conditioned to see sex as just another bargaining chit; or as an offering to keep the templars from harming those I ... cared for."

"Like Karl," Hawke said quietly, expression slowly clearing in understanding. At Anders' sharp nod, she closed her eyes again. "Bastards," she whispered.

"In the Tower, I never experienced intimacy, not really, not even from those who were trying to thank me for interceding, or for healing them... after. It was just a way to keep something of myself whole and untouched; a small shield to hide behind whenever I heard the voice behind me in the empty hall." The corners of his mouth turned down and Anders hissed, "Oi, mage brat. Grab your ankles."

Hawke gave a wordless groan of sorrow and hugged Anders' gently. "Oh, Anders," she breathed in shock.

"From my very first year at Kinloch, I don't think I had more than a few days at a time that were ever free of them," he continued grimly. "At first it was because I fought back - a way to punish the brat for misbehaving. Later, after I'd seen how many of the apprentices were being used, I started stepping in whenever I heard a rumor that a Templar was thinking about making a 'bedcheck' visit of one of the dormitories. They didn't care who they were sporting with, as long as it got them off."

"But... I don't understand. Couldn't you report them to the First Enchanter? Surely he would have done something, if he'd known? Couldn't you show him some of the ..." Hawke couldn't keep the note of horror out of her voice, and it cracked slightly on the last sentence as Anders shook his head.

"We had no _proof_, Hawke. Which was mostly my fault, because I healed the victims, over and over, as quickly as I could. How in Andraste's name could I leave anyone bruised and broken when I could mend their hurts and ease the physical marks left by some sadistic bastard? Even though some of them wanted to try, I couldn't let it go.

"Then one day Karl found me after a particularly nasty session and decided enough was enough. He had recently been promoted to full Enchanter, and thought that it would protect him. He convinced me not to heal myself fully and tried to bring me before Irving." Anders bowed his head against Hawke's shoulder and drew a shuddering breath, tears of remembered rage prickling at his eyes.

_Four Templars, the dungeon cell: cold, dank, smelling of rust and sweat - familiar pain and taunting laughter and the resolve to _get through this_ being torn from him as Karl screamed while a new and worse pain smote through both of them._

"We failed. Somehow, they _knew_. They found out and they - stopped us. That's when I started trying to escape in earnest, while Karl chose to submit. It strained our relationship too far, and that was the end of my only chance to find out what love could be." He began to weep then, for Karl, for the nameless apprentices who had been broken over and over. For himself.

Hawke cried with him, but her mind had replaced horror with utter, blinding fury and two clear thoughts. _If anyone ever hurts him again...If anything like that has happened to Bethany_... and her fists clenched against his back.

When Anders stilled at last, she drew him into the _aravel_. The thin blanket did little to cut the chill of the night air, but Anders simply unfastened the front of his cloak and pulled her close again. She pressed her lips to the left side of his chest above his heart. "Anders, you still have that chance. We both do. It's something we'll learn together."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N** Some of you may have noticed that, except for Varric's reference at the very beginning, there hasn't been so much as a peep from Justice. There's a reason for this, because a lot of what Anders has bared to Hawke should have caused a serious outburst of Rawr! from our favorite Fade spirit. In my head, Anders has figured out a way to suppress him, but it gets less effective over time. I think it's high time for some BAMFyness from our couple. (Is it just me, or does Awakenings Justice look suspiciously like Origins Valor, who is also a bit of a stuffy prat? I'd rather lump them all together as Strife Demons.)

**Chapter 11  
><strong>  
>After nearly half an hour of lying perfectly still and working to control the constant urge to kiss Anders, or stroke the planes of his chest or at least say something, Hawke gave up.<p>

"Anders?" she whispered tentatively. After all, he might be sensibly asleep.

"Yes, Hawke?" he replied immediately.

"I can't just keep lying here next to you pretending to sleep. I'm not a cloistered sister. What do you think about going on to the cave now, instead of waiting for sunrise?" He chuckled deep in his throat, and her breath caught at the sound while her muscles tightened in the familiar clench.

"I think it's an excellent idea. I'm sure we can get a torch from one of the guards. I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one finding it difficult to sleep, and very thankful indeed that you are _not_ a cloistered sister." He cupped his free hand to her face and kissed her softly, once, before holding his coat open so she could roll out from under his arm.

"Maker's arse but it's cold up here," Hawke complained in a vehement whisper. "The sooner we get moving, the better." She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders in a vain bid to keep some of the warmth she'd shared from Anders' body, but her teeth actually chattered a bit.

The mage sat up next to her and placed one hand on the smooth curve of her neck, sending a small pulse of healing heat coursing along her nerves. He smiled when she made an appreciative growl and leaned her head against his hand for a moment.

"And there's yet another reason to love you," she said as she scooted toward the open back of the _aravel_ and swung her feet over the edge before hopping down to the ground and moving off in search of a torch.

Anders followed more deliberately, stopping to make sure he had his healer's satchel and looping the strap of her travel pack across his chest in the other direction. It wouldn't do to leave Malcolm's grimoire behind. What would she do without him? _Hah. More importantly, what would _you_ do without _her_?  
><em>  
>Grinning, Anders went after Hawke. The central fire had finally begun to die down, but there was still enough light to glint off her crossed blades as she walked over to the guard post. As he approached, she nodded her thanks to the Dalish hunter and turned to present the mage with a torch - carved ironwood wrapped with pitch-soaked strips of cloth bound around tight-packed dried moss. It was a useful design, because the ironwood would not burn, and the flammable materials could easily be replaced. The torch itself was a thing of beauty, with carved vines and flowers worked into its surface - clearly Master Ilen's work.<p>

"You know, Hawke," Anders said as they paused so he could light the torch in the fire, "something like this would be a perfect trade item to show Varric. And I bet if you replaced the sconces out front of your estate with a matched set, all of Hightown would kill to get their hands on some to stay even with the 'upstart Fereldan.'" He passed it to her as they headed back past the aravel and started climbing towards the first turn in the path, and she nodded in agreement as she studied it.

With a flourish, she whipped the torch around in a tight, whistling arc, rolling her wrist and snapping it forward in a low stab, then reversed her stance to thrust backwards with the butt of the torch, flames dancing with each move. She returned it to Anders with a smirk. "In a pinch, it would also be perfect for repelling all the 'suitable young men' my mother has been shoving at me, since she won't let me wear my blades inside."

Anders felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Of course there would be all sorts of young men from Hightown families trying to attract her attention now that she had money and position and the Amell name was returning to its former prominence. "Or I could simply freeze a few of them," he muttered to himself.

"Oh, would you _please_?" Hawke said drolly, placing her hand over his on the torch. "Honestly, Anders," she continued seriously, "haven't you realized by now you're the only man I'll ever want? I knew it that first day in the clinic."

All the old doubts surfaced at once and he stopped in the middle of the path. "_Why_, Hawke? What can you possibly see in me? I'm an apostate. The Chantry has issued a death sentence for me. I ran away from the Grey Wardens. I'm host to an intolerant spirit that seems to act more erratically every time it manifests. I live in the _sewers_. I don't even have a proper change of clothes," he finished plaintively, gesturing at his stained and worn coat and oft-mended shirt and leggings.

Hawke smiled softly and tightened her grip on his hand while she moved to stand in front of him. "Anders, the first time I saw you, you had pushed yourself to the point of collapse to heal that boy, and yet you were immediately back on your feet and ready to defend him and his family against a perceived threat. You refused coin for your maps and instead asked for help to save Karl. You risk yourself again and again to protect those who have nothing, who would likely kill you for your boots. Even the situation with Justice came about because you wanted to help." As she spoke, her voice grew more intense and unshed tears welled in her eyes.

"Your healing is _love_, Anders. You just need to accept that you deserve to be loved in return." She twined the fingers of her free hand into his hair, and pulled his head down. "I just thank the Maker that I'm the only one who's been smart enough to look past the unimportant things and lucky enough to find _you_," she breathed, and locked her lips against his in a kiss that was almost bruising in its vehemence.

After a moment's hesitation, the mage returned the kiss just as fervently. _If Hawke believes in me this much, I can believe, too, I guess.  
><em>  
>After the kiss ended, Hawke smiled lazily. "As for living in the sewers, you've obviously never stood downwind of me after a few days' adventuring when my leathers are coated in blood and ichor and whatever that foul crap is that the shades throw off when they're melting. Come up to the estate while I'm getting the supplies I promised for Lirene's store. We'll get you into some new clothes, after you've gone through a few baths with me. As long as you're clean, Mother can't object too loudly."<p>

Anders sputtered in mock panic. "Hawke, be serious. If Leandra saw me coming out of your room she'd ...she'd probably - well, I'd be safer slapping Aveline on the ass and telling her she's got Captain's spread from too much sitting," Anders grinned at Hawke's delighted guffaw, and they continued climbing.

The torch light dimmed as they walked through one of the perennial patches of fog that spread across the mountain's flanks. The cold moist air clung to their skin and coated their hair with fine droplets, and Anders attributed Hawke's shiver to the mist, until she spoke.

"At least if you were coming out of my room, I'd be able to tell my mother that I was no longer suitable for a Hightown marriage," she said shyly, and glanced at him sidelong.

The mage stared at her, and even the torch light couldn't hide the blush that colored her whole face. "You've never...?" he questioned gently.

Her blush deepened. "No. Of course not. I was the oldest marriageable granddaughter of a noble family. My entire childhood was a constant reminder of who I 'really' was, and what I was 'meant to do' when we came back to Kirkwall. She loved my father, I know she did, but as the years went by and we kept moving to smaller and more obscure villages, it was easy to see Mother was starting to regret not staying in Kirkwall.

"And when Bethany first showed signs that she'd inherited the mage powers, Mother pinned all her hopes on me. By the time we settled in Lothering, I was of an age to start noticing boys as something other than sparring partners. The very first time I walked out with one of the local farmer's lads, mother found out - I'm sure Carver told her - and after that, she watched me constantly. 'An Amell should _never_ consort with peasants' was her favorite lecture. I hated her for it - for throwing it into father's face like that."

They continued walking for a few minutes, uncomfortably silent in the face of Hawke's admission. Casting about for a way to get past the awkward memory, Anders finally said, "But, uh, well some of the things you've said made me think, well...earlier this evening..." Anders was surprised to feel himself blushing, too, remembering the aching _need_ left in the wake of her hand.

Her face was crimson now, but Hawke managed to smile. "I've learned a great deal from Isabela's continual comments on the subject. Once you sort past the nautical slang and all the seamanly metaphors," Anders barked laughter, and Hawke nodded, grinning, "there's not really much left to the imagination. Plus, what with all the times we've had to go to the Rose to track down information..." She stopped herself. She'd sooner be lost to the Void than admit she'd asked Jethann for advice on how to please Anders.

"Anyhow," she continued hurriedly. "I meant it when I said we could learn together..." Again she trailed off. Something ...the hairs on her arms began to raise, and her breath caught. "_Watch it!_" she shouted, reaching for her blades, stepping back and whirling to face the edge of the path where it fell off into darkness.

Anders swayed backwards, moving quickly to get out of her way. He transferred the torch to his left hand and unlimbered his staff, scanning up and down the path for whatever danger she'd sensed. In a chittering rush they came, crawling up over the boulders along the path, descending jerkily on draglines from the trees looming from the mountain slopes.

With a single smooth gesture, the mage swept lightning along his staff, sent it humming into Hawke's blades. "I'll take the uphill side," he barked, and began drawing electricity down from the sky and channeling it into a deadly circle around several of the hulking spiders that were closing in. He then began firing individual bolts from his staff at any that ventured too near, glancing aside frequently to keep an eye out for Hawke.

Maker, but she was a joy to watch. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see how a few mincing steps moved her where she needed to be for a quick slash that severed legs and left a writhing body for him to finish with a crackling burst of energy. Next a curtsy that had been changed into a ducking slide which propelled her under and away from a rearing charge. So she danced and spun and created graceful death, and Anders danced with her, always a few steps away.

He risked a quick glance up the path and saw that his tame storm had cleared the threat from the uphill side. A sudden cry of frustration mixed with pain snapped his head around. The last spider - one of the black and red ones - had managed to stagger Hawke off balance, and it had spat a poisonous green cloud into her face at pointblank range. Blinded, she sank to one knee, flailing wildly in front of her with one blade, dropping the other and rubbing frantically at her eyes.

"_Down_," he yelled, and leveled his staff to deliver a withering bolt of spirit-fueled anger into its body. It struck at her again even as it died, and she cried out once more before going limp under its weight.

He sprinted to her side and levered the spider's body off her with his staff. He then dropped it and yanked his satchel over his head. Hawke's eyes were closed and already the lids were swelling from the sticky green venom. Worse still, a jagged bite from the spider's mandibles had torn a rent in the side of her leather cuirass, and blood mixed with ichor was dripping from the hole.

Anders fumbled in his satchel, found the lyrium potion and downed it in two swallows. The venom on her face and in her eyes was relatively easy to banish - the blue healing light bonded to the poison and swirled it away into the air.

But the wound over her ribs was serious. Even with the lyrium, Anders knew he'd need more energy. _Justice. I need your help_.

**Why? Each time you perform a healing, it strains my being. My connection with the Fade is not as strong as it was. These healings weaken us both.  
><strong>  
><em>It's Hawke. She's been badly hurt. A healing potion won't be enough.<br>_  
><strong>That one. She distracts you. They all do. Our purpose takes precedence.<br>**  
>Anders seized on that. <em>Justice, she knows a way to get mages out of Kirkwall once we've gotten them out of the Gallows. Out of the Free Marches entirely. It was a route discovered by her father - he was a mage, too, you know. Without her knowledge, our purpose will suffer.<br>_  
><strong>... Interesting. I will concede she has a use, for now. I will aid you.<br>**  
>Anders could feel the new pool of energy, raw and potent, that began to suffuse his own power. He gently worked two fingers into the wound and released the healing light in a controlled stream, seeking the ichor and poison, drawing it to the surface, separating it from her blood and spinning it harmlessly away into the night. He sent questing tendrils of power into her veins, searching whether any venom had spread further.<p>

_Praise Andraste and her knickers_, he thought shakily. He'd worked fast enough. Now he began to draw his fingers out of the wound, knitting flesh together in their wake, until he was able to see the gash closing. Using his belt knife, he carefully slit the armor a little further in each direction, so he could place his palm flat over her ribs. He flooded the area with the last of the combined energy, and sat back on his heels with a sigh. _With any luck, that's the last I'll be hearing from him for a good long while. I guess even bad things can bring some good.  
><em>  
>He was pleased to see that she was still unconscious, lips slightly parted and breathing deeply and steadily. He was also pleased at the familiar way his muscles clenched, from his stomach all the way down to his toes, when he looked at her face. Every time he looked at her, it was the same.<p>

Careful not to wake her, Anders pulled a soft clean cloth out of his satchel and soaked it with water from his travel canteen. Gently, he began to wash her face, cleaning her eyes, and eyelashes of the last traces of the venom. This way, he could simply revel in touching her without worrying about hurting her. _She's like the sleeping Princess in a nurse's tale_, he thought ruefully. _And I'm the kennel boy who's fallen in love with her._

True - the skinny, almost boyish frame, the numerous scars from long-ago fights, even the unruly black curls that fell across her forehead - none of them matched the pampered and proper virginal heroine found in Orlesian courtly romances. But to his eye, those so-called flaws, when combined with the strength of her heart, made Hawke all the more desirable. She was imperfect, and that meant she was perfect for him.

**All right, gentle readers. We're at D-Day (Disconnect Day). I'm going to do my best to find a way to get online again SOON to continue my little story. Hopefully this chapter was long enough to hold your interest until I get back. Bless all of you for the reads, the reviews, the alerts and the favorites. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** Firstly: thank the Maker for public libraries and free computer time! Secondly, I like to think there are more permutations to magic in Thedas than the acknowledged "schools" of power - I refer to what the Chantry dismissively calls "hedge" magery: the uncommon talents - second sight, finders, luckbringers, weirdness magnets, power sinks. Bethany Hawke is a full mage, thanks to Leandra's Amell heritage being enhanced by Malcolm Hawke's power. But beyond that, I think that even though Leandra, Carver and my Hawke are not mages, there is definitely potential carried in the blood.

**Chapter 12**

"_Concentrate, sweetheart. What do you see?" Warm hands that make her head tickle lift from her eyes._

_She looks up into his strong, lined face and giggles. "You're all glowy, Papa. It's pretty."_

_He smiles in approval. "Yes. Very good. Now, what color is the glow?"_

"_Blue and white, Papa. All swirly. And Mama is purple. Bethy has blue like you, and Carver is red. But I can't see me, Papa. What color am I?"_

"_Bright white, dear heart," and he picks her up and swings her around, laughing. She laughs with him as they spin faster and faster, until the sun turns into an orange line down either side of the corridor._

_The air here is close and hot, harsh with a tang like that of a blacksmith's forge. Shrieks and yells rend the air, and she laughs grimly down at the 'spawn bleeding out at her feet before turning to seek another foe. Instead, she sees a man - dark-haired, grim-faced, armed with a longbow - who stares past her in puzzled anger. "Anders?" he rasps._

"_Anders?" she echoes in pleased disbelief._

"_Yes, you don't mind, do you?" Bethany smiles at her, cradling a black-haired newborn who glows faintly blue, like his mother._

Warm hands cup her shoulders and she hears a voice calling her, feels gentle lips pressed to hers. "Hawke, wake up now, love."

"Anders?" Hawke said, and opened her eyes, staring in wonder at the muted blue and white light that flickered and danced around him.

"I'm here, my love. How are you feeling? Are your eyes hurting you at all? You took a pretty bad shot of poison. I healed the worst of it - and washed your eyes for good measure ..." He broke off and looked at her intently, brows drawing down in a concerned frown. "You _can_ see me, can't you?" he asked, when she didn't move or reply.

"You're glowing. I had forgotten how beautiful it was," she replied softly, smiling in remembrance. "My father had the exact same aura. No wonder I've always been drawn to you." She laughed gently as he began running his fingers through her hair, obviously seeking a missed injury.

"I'm fine, really, love. When I was very young, my father noticed that sometimes I would be fussy and nervous around certain people, and even towns or villages, while in others I would be calm and happy. As a result, I was usually the one who decided where we would stay - although it never really lasted until we arrived in Lothering. I threw what amounted to a tantrum and insisted it was perfect for our home.

"Later, when I was a little older, Father began testing to find out if I was a mage. But it turned out I could only see auras when he applied a bit of healing power to my eyes - it seemed to trigger it for a couple of hours before fading out. On my own, I had strong hunches and occasional dreams, and I'd always been very sensitive - I could feel intentions and presences, but that was the extent of it. So, after a few months, he gave up on it as just a minor curiosity. Besides, by then Bethany was showing definite signs of being a real mage and he was busy teaching her how to hide her talents." Hawke sighed wistfully.

"You don't think he was he disappointed with you, surely?" Anders asked hesitantly. "I'm sorry to pry - I've realized for some time that Leandra is very uncomfortable about magic in general, even though she tries to hide it - but both you and Bethany have always talked about your father quite warmly. I envy you so much for your time with him."

"Oh, no. Father loved all of us very much. I was just... remembering, is all. I wish you could have met him. I'm sure he would have heartily approved of you as a son." Hawke suddenly sat up and kissed Anders hungrily, tightening her arms around his neck when he groaned and murmured about the middle of a pile of dead spiders not being the right place.

"Very soon, my love, we will have to _find_ the right place," she stated firmly as she ended the kiss, "or I shall perish of frustration, and I don't think even you could heal me of that. Speaking of which, how badly was I damaged this time? I feel very good, but I don't know how much of that to attribute to your healing, and how much to attribute to your... handling," and she kissed him again.

In reply, Anders stuck a few fingers into the hole in her armor and tickled, grinning as she squealed and struck at his hand. "Sneaky bastard! I understand now - you'll just keep cutting more and more holes in my armor until I can't fight any more. Although I suppose I could ask Isabela for pointers on how she manages to wear smallclothes to a fight and not be cut to ribbons." She lifted her arm and craned her neck to appraise the hole in her well-worn armor.

"I suppose I can get somebody to patch it one more time," she said dubiously. "I just wish we'd run into some smaller-sized bandits every once in a while. Adjusting armor to fit me is almost more trouble than it's worth."

"Why don't you go ahead and buy yourself some customized armor for once?" Anders asked. "You don't need to make do with hand-me-downs and battle spoils anymore, you know."

Hawke shook her head and stood, moving to retrieve her discarded dagger then cleaning both blades of the spider blood and ichor that spattered them. "No, Anders. I used what I needed to in order to get the estate back for mother. But now that's taken care of? Anything else that comes in is going to your clinic, and to Lirene's shop. The Arishok was wrong. Things _can_ be improved here, and I intend to make a start. I'm going to make Hawke a name of note in the important parts of Kirkwall. Amell can stay in Hightown and play."

She put her hand out to Anders and pulled him to his feet. He shook his head, concerned. "But what if Coterie members start showing up to redistribute your new supplies? At least guards patrol Lowtown, so Lirene's shop is fairly safe, but you know Aveline won't risk sending patrols through Darktown." He saw the quiet smile on her face. "Wait, you've gotten another brilliantly weird idea, haven't you?" he said.

Her smile widened to a grin. "Well, very few of the refugees have jobs or any means of reliable income, right? And I know you never charged for your healing. But what if we could provide arms, armor and some form of training for the adults who have sick relatives? You'd have guards for your clinic, and I'm sure I could talk Aveline into bringing some of the more promising in as guard potentials. She was always ready enough to conscript _us_ for oddball assignments, remember."

Anders smiled back at her. "That's a splendid idea. And they'll be able to protect themselves better when they're out and about. You may not have magic, Hawke, but I'm really starting to think you _are_ magic." He stooped to pick up his satchel and looped it back over his shoulder, then picked up the torch from where he had dropped it during the fight. It had nearly guttered out, but the pitch-soaked wrappings were so tightly woven that they had stayed alight. He gently waved it back and forth a few times, and the flames spread evenly again.

"Well, let's hope that's the last surprise we have for this trip," he said, looking with distaste at the smoking, slashed bodies of the spiders they had fought.

"Oh, I don't know," Hawke said, grinning. "I like surprises - most of the time, anyway. Come on, we're almost there." And she moved off again, leather strips on her armored skirt swaying enticingly.

After several minute's steady, uneventful climbing, they finally reached the cave entrance. Hawke nodded to herself, drew a deep breath and turned to face Anders, completely serious.

"Anders, I have to apologize. I'm terrible at planning things out instead of just doing something spur of the moment. I so wanted this trip to be for _you_ - as personal thanks for all the help you've given me over the past year. Even though it's been a few months, I keep thinking about poor Grace and the others from the Starkhaven Circle. Who knows where they are now?" She shook her head sadly. "I wanted to give you a way to get mages out of the city entirely, away from Meredith's power.

"The Blight is over. So many people could go back to Ferelden - and who would notice a few extra farm hands or laborers? Every time mages run home to family, they get caught, unless the whole family moves. I know you said Amaranthine's farmlands were almost uninhabited when you left the Wardens. Ferelden is probably desperate for farmers and people to rebuild. It's not a stupid idea, is it?" Hawke threw her hands up in frustration and continued without letting the mage reply.

"Instead, I feel as if I managed to make it all about me and my problems and what I want. Breaking down like that, and only being concerned about Bethany - as if there aren't other mages who have been stuck in the Gallows so much longer - and then... making it even more complicated by bringing up how I feel about you when I said I wasn't going to. So, well - I just started out wanting to thank you. I'm sorry about all the rest," she finished quietly.

Anders had caught hold of her wildly waving hands as she spoke and simply smiled at her, listening. When she stopped speaking, he pulled her close and stared into her eyes, willing her to see the truth of what he said. "Hawke, I'm the one who should be thanking you," he said firmly. "And I'm not the only one. We all owe you. Besides, what man wouldn't jump at the chance of freeing his lover's sister once he's been given such a wonderful opportunity?

"Show me your father's legacy, dear heart. As soon as we get back into Kirkwall, I'll pass word to my contacts that we're getting Bethany out." He spared a glance for the cave entrance and looked back at Hawke with a slight frown.

"But I hope you'll forgive me if I fervently hope that this will be enough, without venturing into the Deep Roads again. Bethany has fought darkspawn, but most of the mages we'll be helping have never even used an offensive spell in their lives. And any Fereldans that accompany them would be more likely to flee than fight, given the Blight."

Hawke nodded and smiled ruefully. "That's very true. I've just gotten too used to you wading into the middle of a fight, instead of sensibly staying back and waiting until it's all over to put the blood back in the crazy ones like me." As she stepped inside the cave, she heard Anders give a grudging laugh.

"You've been hanging around Varric too much, Hawke. He's got you belittling my amazing powers of healing and restoration again. Although I suppose his thanks are gushing compared to what Fenris managed." He couldn't force his pleasant tenor into the elf's basso range, but he copied the deadpan sneer perfectly. "'You did not succumb to abomination when we were trapped, mage. I had thought it was inevitable. I was surprised.'"

"Oh, that absolute _shit_," Hawke snarled in exasperation as they followed the path through the first small section of cavern. "I figured he'd pull something like that. I honestly don't know why I keep associating with him. Even Aveline is less of a pain in my ass."

"Easy, now, Hawke. After all, coming from Fenris, it's practically effusive. Besides, much as I absolutely despise his arrogance, he _is_ a fantastic fighter. And he owes you, same as the rest of us." He grinned down at her when she stopped on the short flight of wooden steps and stared at him. "Just don't tell him I had anything complimentary to say about him, all right?"

Hawke snorted and gestured for him to pass her the torch. "No problem there. I don't think anybody would believe you said it even if I told them. But enough about our broody elf. Through here is where I think the path starts."

As they passed through the old rusted door into the lower section of the cavern, Anders looked around. "Well, there's plenty of 'stony teeth' I suppose, but that stairway just leads to a dead end," he gestured across the cave, "and the other doorway appears to have been deliberately blocked ages ago."

Hawke smiled mysteriously, and moved along the cavern wall to the left, where bare rock extended a short way into the underground watercourse that flowed through the mountain. "Here," she said, holding the torch higher so the water was brightly lit for a few yards in both directions.

"'I came upon a trail of liquid which led into its nether reaches,'" she quoted softly. "This is where my father began his life of freedom. I can almost feel his spirit." They stood silent for a moment, watching the water slip past around the stalagmites rising from the stream bed's floor, anticipating what it could mean for the future.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N** For this chapter, I recommend finding The Grotto of Time Lost by Steve Roach and Robert Rich (/djldvy) and listening to it on continuous loop. The description is my recollection of the main cavern at Waitomo, as transplanted to Thedas. While this is a case where a picture is definitely worth more than 1,000 or even 10,000 words, the music helps. Apologies for the delay in uploading - I was unable to do so Monday.

**Chapter 13**

"Well, I guess this is where the fun bit starts," Hawke said cheerily, handing the torch back to Anders, who watched in bemusement as she sat on the stony floor and began unbuckling her greaves. She then removed her boots and the insulating stockings for her feet. She stuffed the balled up stockings into the boots, and finally rolled the soft leather sides down to the soles and buckled the greaves around them to make a compact bundle.

"Could I have my travel pack, please? I think I've gotten this small enough to fit." She reached up to Anders and he unslung her travel pack and handed it to her. After pulling out Malcolm's grimoire, the boots and armor were a snug fit which made the stitches along the pack's seams bulge, but she was able to tie the flap closed. She brushed a hand over the book's cover, then kissed it and handed it to Anders with a soft smile. "For you, my love."

The mage took the book almost reverently and pressed his lips to it as well, before tucking it into his healer's satchel. "Thank you, dearest," he said huskily and smiled tenderly back. But after only a few seconds, his eyes were drawn inexorably to her bare feet and legs, then slowly rose to where her smoothly muscled thighs disappeared underneath the tassets of her armored skirt. He colored and glanced guiltily back at her face, to see she was eyeing him speculatively.

"I think you should at least take off your boots, and probably your leggings, as well," she purred, and gestured towards his feet. "As for your coat, I'm sure you can tuck it up out of the way with your belt."

"_What_?" Anders yelped, and took a stride backwards, free hand held out in a warding-off gesture, mind in a gabbling panic. _No, this isn't how it should be. What is she thinking?_

"Well, if you _want_ to go wading in wet leather boots and woolen leggings, I certainly won't stop you," Hawke drawled, rising to her feet and removing the torch from his loosened grip. "I can turn my back if you like, but I think it's only fair that I get to watch since you watched me."

"Oh, er, right," Anders said faintly, coloring even more, then he grinned and shook his finger at her. "I've no objections. But I must warn you my legs are nowhere _near_ as attractive as yours." He seated himself against the cavern wall and began undoing the buckles on his boots. Hawke stuck the torch in a crack in the wall next to her and leaned forward to help pull off the boots, so the mage could turn his attention to the cloth strips he had wound around his knees and upper calves as padding against crippling low blows.

She stuffed the strips into his boots, and then watched with an anticipatory gleam in her eyes as he leaned back against the rock wall to untie the knotted cord that gathered his leggings around his waist. His fingers faltered briefly as he saw the heat in her gaze, and when she ran her tongue over her slightly parted lips he could feel himself twitching in eager reaction.

Doggedly, he returned his attention to the knot and finally managed to untie it. He hooked his thumbs in the sides of his leggings and arched his hips upward to slide the fabric down to his thighs, then pulled his knees towards his chest to finish pushing the woolen cloth down his calves and off his feet. He quickly drew his coat over his lap to hide the erection beginning to press against the cloth of his smalls, but Hawke's stifled moan was reflected and amplified by the water and the stone walls of the cave. Anders closed his eyes at the sound, struggling to control his arousal. _Concentrate, man. You're going to be wading in very cold water and you've no idea how deep it is._

He heard splashing and opened his eyes to see that Hawke had rolled onto her stomach by the stream and was scooping water over her head and face. After a few seconds, she shook her head vigorously, sending water droplets flying in all directions, then sat up and turned to face him with a sharp grin.

"Anders, promise me that when we get back to Kirkwall, we'll go directly to your clinic, shut the doors and _not come out_ for at least a day." Her voice was teasing, but the look in her eyes was frightening in its intensity. "I _want_ you."

He nodded shakily, once again surprised by the strength of her feelings for him - and even more surprised by the depth of need he had discovered in himself for her. "I swear it, Hawke. I won't deny this any more."

"Good. That's good, because I'm rapidly losing what little self control I still have. Let's get into the water. That should help a bit, right?" she replied, striving for a casual note and almost succeeding.

"Maker, I hope so," he said with feeling, and was rewarded by her laugh. He stood up, and loosened the lower strap of his belt enough to fold the hem of his coat up near mid-thigh, before retightening the buckle. It was awkward, but it would probably do the trick long enough for them to complete their exploration.

Hawke had already gone a few steps out into the stream. "About knee deep so far," she reported. "I don't expect it should get much deeper, if my father and a fully armored templar could be moving so quickly along the stream bed."

"Don't you want to bring the torch?" Anders asked as he prepared to follow her. "The current can guide us, I suppose, but there might be obstructions or low-hanging rocks." _Please don't make me walk in the dark._

"We won't need it," she replied confidently. "Just douse it for now. We'll get it on the way back." He raised an eyebrow, but after so long working together, he knew that Hawke always had a good reason for everything she did, whether it made sense at first or not. With a slight whisper of power, Anders frosted the flames with a touch of ice. As the darkness settled like a shroud across his shoulders, he shuddered and took a deep breath, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to ward off the fear. _You're safe. You're perfectly safe._

"Anders?" Hawke's voice came closer, accompanied by a faint swish as her legs moved against the current.

He heard the concern in her voice and forced himself to speak, even though a long-buried part of him begged for silence, for hiding. "I... don't do so well in the dark, Hawke... especially in enclosed spaces like this. Just... give me a moment?" He felt her warm fingers closing around his hand and clutched at her almost convulsively.

"I'm sorry - I wasn't thinking. Is that why you hate the Deep Roads so much?" she asked quietly. "I thought maybe it was just the 'spawn..."

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, no, I have a completely different reason to hate the Deep Roads, Hawke. This just stems from all the time I spent getting acquainted with the dungeons in Kinloch. Nobody wastes light on a troublemaker until it's time for punishment."

She squeezed his fingers gently in reassurance. "Open your eyes, beloved," she commanded gently.

He breathed in again, then did as she asked. There, hovering just a little above eye level over the water, were several tiny pinpoints of bluish light. They didn't really provide very much illumination, but their reflections glowed just as brightly in the water below. Anders felt as if his fear was starting to drift away on the current of the stream as he stared at the tiny creatures.

Hawke pulled gently on his hand and he followed her, hesitantly at first. The water _was_ cold, and he hissed in displeasure, but after a few seconds, the chill seemed to lessen. Gaining confidence, he moved forward to walk next to her, realizing that the glowworms created a narrow haphazard trail that stayed mainly over the center of the watercourse.

Every few feet, branching paths split off from and came into the main channel, and a dozen or so lights would extend down them a few feet, but the main trail was unmistakable. "People always have torches with them in caves, so they can't see these little beauties," Anders said in wonder. "Add to that the fact that nobody in their right mind would deliberately wander off into an underground river," he laughed softly. "It's perfect, Hawke. I wonder how Ser Carver discovered it?"

"Who knows?" she replied. "Could be he was an adventurous child, or perhaps he found some reference to it in slaver records. Maybe Andraste sent him a vision." They waded on silently for a few more minutes then Hawke pulled them to a stop. "The water is getting deeper," she warned. "I think we're getting close to the lake."

"I think you're right," Anders said, peering forward. "It looks as though the trail ends just up ahead." They started cautiously forward again, with Anders using his staff to probe the bottom of the stream.

"I guess the water level has risen over the years," Hawke mused. "I gathered from father's story that he was running along full tilt with the templar right behind him - which is why the templar couldn't stop in time when they hit the lake. We'll just have to make very certain that nobody can tell where our path branches off from the main cave - although if the Dalish can clear that rock slide, then there won't be any reason for people to use the cave anymore."

A few more glowworms showed ahead, and they realized the watercourse had been curving gently for the past few yards. As they rounded the final bend, they stopped abruptly, gazing in wonder.

"Andraste's holy flame," Anders murmured reverently as Hawke breathed, "Maker's blessing." As they stood, hardly daring to breathe, they could hear occasional droplets of water falling from the ceiling, and a distant rushing noise that hinted at the outflow of the lake.

Suspended before them in the darkness was a vast blazing cone of luminous blue created by thousands of glowworms. Towards the center, the points of light hung down further and further, until they were almost touching the surface of the lake, which was so still that the cone of light was mirrored perfectly, forming an hourglass of blue fire that floated in their vision.

Spreading out from the central core, small groups and trails of light led off to the far reaches of the cavern, making them feel as if they were standing outside on a clear night, staring at a star-filled sky.

Anders reached for Hawke's hand again, wanting to weep for joy. If the Maker could create wondrous beauty like this, surely it was a sign that He did, in fact, still care about the world - about mankind - about _him_.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** During a class rafting trip in Westwater Canyon on the Colorado River my senior year of high school, several of my classmates and some of the river guides were dumped out of their boats more than once, and most of them were experiencing hypothermia to varying degrees. I always counted myself very fortunate that a) I never went overboard; b) I had a sleeping bag in a waterproof sack; and c) I was tapped to provide body heat for a very cute river guide. Can you blame me if I stole a few kisses? He didn't object ...

**Chapter 14**

Anders wasn't sure how long they'd been standing entranced, hand-in-hand at the edge of the lake. The sight was so incredible that he felt as if he could willingly stay there forever, but he was also aware that his feet and lower legs were beginning to go numb from prolonged exposure to the cold subterranean stream. And if he was getting chilled, he knew what would be happening to Hawke with her slighter frame. He glanced towards her and saw that her face - ghostly in the blue light - was uncommonly serene.

As if feeling his gaze, she finally tore her eyes away from the doubled cone of fire at the middle of the lake. "Oh, Anders, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" she whispered in awe.

"You," he replied simply, and drew her hand up for a kiss. "But now," he continued, "let's see if we can find a ledge or some rocks up out of the water. We need to dry off and get warmed up a bit if we're going to go any further." They retraced their steps to where the passageway had first opened up into the main chamber, and on the left side of the watercourse, they found a shallow ledge that opened onto a small embayment floored with smooth, rounded rock.

"I imagine the water level varies quite a bit, depending on run-off from snow melt on Sundermount's higher slopes," Hawke murmured. "This alcove was probably almost filled with water less than a month ago and I'll wager that in a few more weeks, the stream will be even lower." She had started shivering once they had gotten out of the water, and her teeth had begun to chatter. "Damn, I'm freezing. Maybe we should have brought the torch, after all."

Anders quickly unhooked the chain that secured his feathered pauldrons and removed his coat. "I think this will do," he said, healing instincts taking over. After putting his satchel and the feathered capelet against the wall as padding for his back, he spread the coat on the floor and sat cross-legged on the lower skirt of it. "Come over here, Hawke." Light from the massed glowworms glinted off the white flowstone and the unbleached linen of his shirt. She hurried over to him, rubbing her arms with her hands.

"Just sit in my lap facing me, and pull the coat up over your back. Then tuck the sleeves over my shoulders. The air pocket we create that way will warm us up faster than a fire could." She complied as quickly as she could, crossing her legs carefully across his lap and gratefully huddling under the warm leather with its lining of felted wool. He cupped his hands over her ears and released a slight trickle of healing warmth while exhaling deeply across the top of her head and down the back of her neck.

For her part, Hawke rubbed her legs and feet until they began to tingle with returning sensation, then she started on what parts she could reach of Anders' legs under her own. She smiled to herself. In spite of what he had said, she found his legs _quite_ attractive - lean and firmly muscled - and they went to such an _interesting_ place. Her hands itched to move over his body, exploring and teasing, but she bit her lip and sighed. _Not now. Later. He promised._ Instead, she luxuriated in the warmth being generated by his hands and breath, and kept massaging their legs.

Before too long, her shivering had stopped entirely, and she tilted her head back so she could kiss him. "Thank you, Anders. That's taken care of it." She frowned. "This could present a serious problem, though. Even if the stream level goes down, there's still the lake to get across. My father was in good enough health, and he didn't know if other templars were coming. That gave him the impetus to swim across the lake. And Bethany can swim like a fish. But there's no telling what condition any of the other mages we help will be in. Some of them probably won't even know how to swim, or will be too exhausted to try.

"Once they're through here, it should be easy enough to get to the Wounded Coast road - and that's where they could link up with caravans heading out from the Bone Pit - ones crewed by Fereldans. And between Isabela's contacts and that Amaranthine woman I helped out a while back, we should be able to send some of them directly to Ferelden across the Waking Sea as paid passengers. We've just got to get them through here without drowning them."

Anders had been biting at his lip in thought while she spoke. "Maybe the Dalish could help us once more," he said hesitantly. "They call their _aravels_ 'land-ships' after all. Perhaps they could build a small boat or even a raft to take people across - it wouldn't have to be fancy, just enough to keep them dry. Attach one end of a rope to this side and one to the boat - and they could just drift across with the current. Then the next group could pull it back to this side."

"Oh, I like it," Hawke agreed enthusiastically. "They could bring materials up here and build it with no-one the wiser."

Anders frowned. "I'm not sure how to persuade them to help, though. Merrill certainly doesn't consider Gallows mages to be a concern of the Dalish, and she's been exposed to more of the realities of Kirkwall life than the clan has."

"What if...," Hawke started, then shook her head, frowning as well.

"Yes?" Anders prompted.

She cupped one hand against the mage's cheek. "What if you told them about ... Zeyra and what happened to her and her clan?" she suggested tentatively. "The Chantry has never been good to the Dalish, and it's likely there will be elven mages among those we help escape. Dalish-born mages are more rare every year. If they'd accept Feynriel for training, I can't imagine they'd turn away full-blooded elves."

Anders' brows drew down in remembered pain, but he nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," he said reluctantly. "At least Marethari should know about it to pass on to other clans' Keepers. It would be nice for Zeyra and her clan to be remembered by more than just you and me." He touched his forehead to hers and sighed. "Yes, I'll do it," he said with more conviction, but his voice was still sad.

Hawke brought up her other hand to the side of his face and kissed him lingeringly. "You're going to be helping mages avoid her fate, beloved, just as you promised," she reminded him, trying to lighten his mood. Struck by a sudden idea, she shrugged his coat down off her shoulders and began to climb off his lap.

"Here, let me show you the answer to my father's riddle. The final safety precaution if our fugitives are followed into the cave." Once on her feet, she spun around to the very edge of the shelf, and stood silhouetted against the light from the lake, arms raised above her head. She glanced over her shoulder, and whispered mischievously, "I can do magic, too!"

She brought her hands together abruptly in a sharp clap, shouting at the same moment. "Hoi!" And the light was gone.

At Anders' dismayed gasp, she spoke reassuringly. "'Living stars shall guide your way. To hide your path a single shout - will bid them obey, and put them out.'" She paused briefly, and heard him moving uncertainly behind her. When she started the next verse, Anders' voice joined hers, and his arms stole around her waist. "'When the danger's passed - The stars shall return. And once again, their fire will burn.'"

"I promise you, Anders. I will never let you be alone in the dark again. _Never_," Hawke said fiercely, turning in his arms to press herself against him, holding him close.

"Hawke, _you_ are my light," he whispered in reply.

They waited. Watched and waited. For the miracle to occur, the final sign that their journey was nearly complete. Suddenly, a tiny point of light sprang up out over the lake. Then another, and another. By ones and twos, then by dozens, the lights burned brightly again.

"Star light, star bright...Make a wish, Anders!" Hawke whispered in delight.

"I already have, dear heart," he murmured into her ear, then breathed across it. "Let's not wait until we go back to Kirkwall. Let me show you here."

Much later the lights went out again, as their gasping cries rang out together and echoed off the cavern walls.


	15. Epilogue

**A/N** Well, here we are at last. Fourteen chapters and close to fifty pages in Quark. Really veering away from canon, but honestly - the Hawke siblings are virtually non-entities in the end-game anyway. I want to thank everyone for coming along for the ride, and for all the reviews and adds - I'm truly touched and grateful. Also, mega thanks for ever-n-ever to my beta Snarkoleptic for her help, encouragement, ideas and (gentle) head smacks to knock the words loose when they weren't cooperating. Here's to many more collaborative efforts, sister!

**Epilogue**

Hawke sighed and rolled her shoulders to loosen the kinks and ease tired muscles as she pushed through the front door of the estate.

Another round of do-goodery turned to slaughter. At least this time it had been for a decent enough reason, she supposed. And now she had a maid servant. She really _was_ turning into the Amell daughter her mother had wanted.

At least hiring Orana had shut Fenris' mouth for once. The stunned look on his face had been priceless. And she had rolled her eyes and Anders... Anders had grinned at her fleetingly just like he used to, which had made her heart lurch uncomfortably in her chest. Then he caught himself and retreated behind his wall, and the moment had been lost.

Two years since Bethany's escape, and he still refused to be anything more than a companion in arms - a healer for hire. Spitting an angry curse, Hawke pulled her blades loose and threw them clattering onto one of the settees in the foyer for Sandal to collect and clean. Maybe one of these days she'd just embed them in the wall and give up for good.

She forced a neutral look onto her face as she moved into the main hall. There was Orana, cowering meekly in the corner by the fireplace while Leandra stared back and forth between the two young women, appalled.

"Really, dear, an elven _slave_? What ever were you thinking?" Leandra twittered, waving her hands gracefully in agitation.

"She's to be a paid servant for the household, mother, just like Bodahn and Sandal. I and my lowly friends just rescued her from a nest of Tevinter slavers and a killed a blood mage in the bargain. You should be pleased. I'm certain it will give you something to converse about at your next dinner party. At the very least, word will filter up from the Viscount to his 'mistress' about what a _model_ citizen you are."

Hawke made no attempt at pretense anymore - she knew Leandra had worked tirelessly at obliterating all connection to Bethany when she found out that Hawke and Anders had freed her. Over the past two years, she'd refused to accept any attempts at communication from her youngest daughter. Fortunately, Bodahn had always rescued the crumpled missives before they could be thrown out, and Hawke had made sure that Bethany now knew to send letters directly to her sister, instead.

To make it worse, Anders had offered to leave Kirkwall several times, but Hawke could not let him go - could not accept that further wound in her life. So she had shamed him into staying by pointing out how much the remaining refugees in Darktown still needed him; reminding him of how many mages they had managed to smuggle out of Kirkwall - and how many still remained.

Hawke sighed again as Bodahn announced that yet _more_ letters had arrived for her in her absence. More desperate pleading, more self-serving fawning, more coin offered to undertake unpleasant tasks. When would somebody actually offer _her_ help? Who could she call on to fix _her_ problems, for once?

She slowly climbed the stairs to her room, shedding the new set of armor in a heap by the door and putting on the ridiculous dressing gown dictated by the mores of Hightown fashion. Hooking the chair out by one leg, Hawke sat at her desk and began to put down the particulars of the day's events in her journal - the ambush, tracking down the blood mage and her entourage, watching incredulously as Fenris first gave his word then immediately after was forsworn when he killed Hadriana - but the quill fell idle in her hand as she remembered a different mission - one that had started so well, yet ended in such ruin.

Just a few days after their return from Sundermount, Anders had taken her to the secret entrance to the Gallows dungeons, accompanied by Merrill and Isabela. She had planned for stealth and infiltration, and knew that neither Aveline nor Fenris would approve of their purpose in the slightest. And while Varric might not have quibbled, he had the unfortunate habit of letting certain stories gain a little too much notoriety.

They had rendezvoused with a carefully anonymous templar who had a nervous Bethany in his charge. After whispered greetings and crushing hugs, they had headed for the alternate entrance that emerged in a quiet section of Lowtown, where Lirene had arranged to leave a cache of common laborer's clothes.

That's when everything went hideously wrong. They had heard nothing, but as they stepped through the door into the final chamber Hawke's heart had plummeted. Templars. A bloody lot of them surrounding one lone mage - a young girl who was pleading for her life.

She had briefly considered pulling her people back - finding a way around, or setting an ambush - but she'd heard a low growl from Anders. Looking over at him, she had been chilled to see blue veins of power crawling across his face and lighting his eyes. He'd shaken his head and moved his lips, and Justice had retreated. Even so, he stepped forward without hesitation, unlimbering his staff and obviously ready for battle.

Truth be told, upon hearing the ugly threats the bastard Alrik had taunted the girl with, Hawke was more than ready to stand with Anders. A quick glance at Bethany, Isabela and Merrill had shown that they were of the same mind. _Well, here we go,_ she'd thought giddily and the battle was joined.

At first, the three mages had concentrated on small, quiet, individual spells - working to disorient and incapacitate - while she and Isabela had woven in and out of the tightly grouped templars, lobbing smoke bombs and seeking to cripple and slow, rather than kill. She'd briefly wished she'd gone ahead and brought Fenris along as well – they could have used his help, but shrugged the thought off as useless. _Too late, now._

It really had looked like they might be able to slip everyone past and out into the city in the confusion, but Alrik had shouted a command. He and several of the templars had simultaneously lashed out with smiting force. The overlapping ripple of spiritual energy had dropped the mages and left her retching. Even Isabela had been staggered by it. Anders had been closest to the grouped templars and as a result took the full brunt of the disruptive blast. He had gone down in a boneless heap.

Isabela had recovered first and had done her best - catcalling and insulting the templars with inventively filthy language. Several of them had been goaded into following her, but Alrik had evidently identified Anders as the Darktown apostate healer and strode towards his motionless form with single-minded intent.

Hawke had screamed at Merrill and Bethany to get up and desperately sprinted to intercept the knight. Merrill had risen groggily, sized up the situation and abruptly spun out the ensnaring roots of her devastating Dalish heritage, immobilizing the remaining templars for a few precious seconds.

Hawke had pounced on Anders' inert form and rolled him over, shaking his shoulders and slapping his face, begging him to wake up. His eyes had just fluttered open, and he was looking around in confusion when she heard Bethany shriek in warning. She'd turned and thrown both blades up in a crossed parry just as Alrik's sword had come whistling down. So much force had been behind the blow that his heavier weapon had knocked her defense aside easily and crashed down on her helmet with stunning force. As she lost consciousness, she had fallen back over Anders and heard him scream, "Zeyra!"

When she came to, she'd smelled a bitter tang and scorched flesh, and Bethany was shaking her urgently, breathing "Sister, _do something_," in a panicked whisper. She'd sat up - wincing from the pain of several burns and cuts - to a scene of horror.

The ground of the cavern was littered with smoking templar corpses, small sparks of electricity still arcing from their armor. Merrill, Isabela and Bethany appeared mostly unharmed, but they, too, had been burned in several places. The mage girl that Alrik had cornered was on her knees near the stairs, protected by a feebly flickering shell of arcane energy. And standing over her was Anders, whose form had been completely enveloped in crackling blue Fade energy. Justice had broken free at last and had unleashed a deadly tempest, goaded by Anders' memories of Zeyra and the pain of the smiting.

She had pleaded with Anders - reaching out for the core of her lover's being, and he'd heard her - barely. With a snarl, Justice had been internalized again, and Anders had stared in sickened disbelief at the carnage that had been wrought. But it was when he saw the wounds that Hawke and the other women had sustained as a result of his magic that he had broken and run.

There'd been no choice but to continue the plan and get Bethany and the other mage, Ella, out and away, but Hawke had entrusted the rest of the journey to Isabela and Merrill, so she could go find Anders before he did anything rash. She'd found him in the clinic, of course - frantically packing to leave. Refugees had watched, wide-eyed and whispering as they'd yelled back and forth about blame and fault and forgiveness.

Tears splashed down on the parchment as Hawke remembered the years since. It hadn't mattered that both Merrill and Isabela had told the mage that no lasting harm had been done; that word had reached them that Bethany had ended up settled safely in Redcliffe. It hadn't mattered how many times she'd told him how much she still loved him. All Anders could see was that Justice had almost killed every one of them - for nothing more than revenge.

She finished her entry, and used the bedside basin to splash water on her face to hide the worst of her reddened eyes. She might as well see what was in the stack of messages. It was Wicked Grace night at the Hanged Man and if there were any potential jobs, she could bring them along for discussion.

Thankfully, Leandra had retreated to her room for the evening when Hawke came downstairs. She had a few words with Orana about her duties and sent her upstairs to look after her armor, then turned to the main desk.

The small pile of correspondence held a few mildly interesting possibilities for jobs, plus the usual letters fishing for coin or favor. She'd neared the end of the stack when she saw the simple note - from Ella, of all people. She was still free, still safe, and grateful to all of them for their help. Hawke smiled wistfully. It was nice to know that some good had come out of the wreckage.

She gave a pleased gasp when she saw the seal on the final letter. Bodahn cleared his throat, and she looked over her shoulder at him with a grin. He winked and nodded at her encouragingly. Hawke broke the seal in a shower of wax shards, destroying the small stylized bird pressed into it.

_Dearest Sister,_

_I hope you are well. I'm sorry I haven't written for so long, but with things so unsettled in Ferelden for the past few years, we decided not to risk calling attention to us. Yes, I said 'us.' Last year, one of Bann Teagan's men began courting me, and this past spring we were married - in the Chantry, if you can believe it! A very petty part of me hopes you'll pass that tidbit on to mother then write and tell me what her face looked like. But here's my biggest news: you are now Auntie Hawke to a strapping nephew…_

Her eyes misted a bit, but as she finished reading the letter Hawke's face lit up with a radiant smile. She folded it up along with Ella's note, and bounded up the stairs, calling for Orana and telling her to hold off on putting the armor away. She reappeared moments later and clattered headlong down the stairs, pausing by the older dwarf.

"You are one of the best people in the world, Bodahn," Hawke said and kissed him on the cheek. "Tell mother not to wait up." With a cocky grin, she danced into the foyer and picked up her blades, armed and ready for one last battle.

* * *

><p>She paused midway up the stairs, just able to see the doors without being easily spotted in turn. The tall form, grown even more gaunt, was straightening from putting out a small wooden saucer. As he turned to go back into the clinic, Hawke hurried to catch him before he could close the doors for the night.<p>

"What are you doing?" she said breathlessly, just catching the door's edge as it was swinging shut.

Anders stiffened at the familiar voice. He shut his eyes and for a moment actually considered ignoring her and closing the door. But as badly as it hurt to look at her, to listen to that voice, he couldn't deny himself. He drew a breath and pushed the door back open.

"Putting out milk. I miss having a cat around. But I think the refugees have scared them all away; or perhaps eaten them," he said, struggling to keep his voice unconcerned and polite. After all, she was probably here with another job. The sooner he heard her out, the sooner she'd leave so he could sit staring into the darkness as he deserved.

He stole a few glances at her, savoring each glimpse as if it was a sip of fine wine. "You know, I've been meaning to thank you," he said, desperate to break the silence. "With Bethany gone, you don't need to keep sticking your neck out for the mages here. Even though Grace and the others from Starkhaven were recaptured, none of those we've helped have been found."

"I'll never stop helping... mages, Anders. You should know that by now," Hawke replied. When he started to turn away, she reached out to touch his sleeve and he froze. "Speaking of which," she continued in a voice that shook with suppressed tension, "I received a couple of letters today." Her hand shook as she held the note out to him. She watched him read Ella's message, barely daring to hope.

Anders smiled sadly as he read. Such a naive girl. Thanking the monster that had almost killed her. "I'm glad she's safely away from here," he said evenly. It hurt to see the disappointment on Hawke's face, but he kept his face blank.

_This is my last chance_, she thought as she held out Bethany's letter. _Please, blessed Andraste. Please ..._

She held her breath as Anders read Bethany's letter. He was smiling - a real smile for once - and then his eyes widened, and he stared at her in disbelief, shaking his head. "She named him...?" He couldn't even finish.

"She named him for you, Anders. Because she wanted to thank you for saving her. Because she knows how much you mean to me." Hawke stepped closer to Anders and she didn't try to hide the anguish in her voice as she spoke.

Anders' reserve started to crack. "How can she thank me? I nearly killed her. I nearly killed _you_, Hawke. You've seen what I am."

"But _you_ _didn't_, Anders. It wasn't you. Justice took control when you were knocked out. You were the one who stopped _him_." She grabbed the front of his coat with both hands. "I've forgiven you. Bethany's forgiven you. We all have. Please, love, forgive _yourself_." She stared at him desperately, face wet with tears, watching as he struggled with himself.

Finally, Anders gave a muffled sob and plunged forward to kiss her with bruising force, gasping and murmuring words of love - all the pent up longing of the past two years breaking through at last. _Maker, make me worthy to always share in the light that she brings._


End file.
